


The Purge, A Game of Sins

by Eboyv



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Forced Heat, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Omega Verse, Omegaverse, graphic description of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:17:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eboyv/pseuds/Eboyv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dystopian Omegaverse AU. Arthur's whole existence has been surrounded with poverty and violence. When he's forced to become some rebel prophet in the Purge, he has to hide his Omega nature and fight against the biggest and baddest of the world. The Purge is this new world's graphic, violent Olympics during "the week of sins" where every country emits one person to compete in the Purge. There will only be one winner. But when Arthur meets a handsome Alpha by the name of Alfred Jones-a competitor from Amerika, he must rethink his whole reason. As they unbearably fall more in love with each other, even with Arthur's hidden identity, the reality remains the same... there will only be one winner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Train

The stench of steel, of machinery, of reverberating voices and distrustful eyes. And yes, it was a smell, it was information that the nasal sensory could absorb like the scent of a freshly-bloomed daisy. It had always been like this. Angry voices and betrayed trust. Constantly alarmed and on guard for something to go wrong. This was the dystopian society he lived in. Always had. To be surrounded by the very source of everything he’d been taught was wrong, well, that was another thing entirely. Alphas. They were the puppet masters of this world, the source of fear in his kind’s instincts. Supposedly the protectors, the providers, they now swarmed the world like it was lain out for specifically them, and according to every religion in today’s society. It was. It was only his brothers, his family, his friends that pushed for the freedom they’d been denied. They were the reasons he stood here, knuckles white in the stuffy crowd of fuming dominance. An Omega in a sea of Alphas, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And for once, he was the predator.

It hadn’t always been like this. There was a time that he would merrily deny his mother’s warnings and look on to the streets of London with unmarred curiosity. To watch those broad shoulders and rippling muscles in a purely innocent manor, only to be directed away and taught they were the visions of the devil. But this was not of normal society. His family never had taught him how an Omega should act, only how they were expected to. No, he was raised as an equal amongst the poor and impoverished. Left to fight for scraps where the world thought him unfit to stand. Even when his cousin all the way from Australia came to his door talking about the Purge, he hadn’t the faintest clue that joining the ranks of Syners was anything above normal.

The Purge was a week of holiness. In every religion whether it be Islam, Judaism, Christianity, or Pagan, there were seven days in a year where the world would send their best of the best to compete in the game of sins. In a time far from now, in the past before humans had evolved into this warped class system of scent-oriented savages, one could relate the Purge to something of the Olympics. But in the new world, it was much different. For it wasn’t just who was the strongest, it was who was the most fitting in the Lord’s eye. It was those who had either the bronze or the brains to survive the seven deadly sins, the week of the Purge. Thousands would be chosen from the strongest of countries, but only one would survive in the end. The winner would not only be given a life’s worth of money and fame, but it would be the greatest honor to their family and bloodline. To their country.

It hadn’t struck him as anything beyond average when the Purge was said to be based in London, UK. Omegas never really had reason to compete, as they were supposedly weak, frail things to be chosen by those who were strong enough to compete. But when Jett visited, his eyes dark with things Arthur didn’t even want to begin to understand, it seemed that would all change. The Kirkland family had a history under the King’s eye. Though innocent according to criminal records, they always walked the line between immoral and law-abiding. To put it simply, they were one of the head families supporting the rebellion. Like the ancient civil war of Northern and Southern Ireland, the media had long since given up covering the battle between Omegas and Alphas. As was biologically expected, the Omegas always lost, and soon even the underdog-rooters had withered into silence under his majesty’s eye.

This is what his cousin argued for. For the freedom that Omegas deserved, the rights that were granted equally to all under the acts of his majesty, and not just for Alphas and Betas.

Jett clapped a hand on his shoulder, fingers squeezing softly on his sleeve, “Did you take your pill set today?” He asked with a concerned, strict voice, burning with the tension of anxiety. Arthur nodded quickly, as his anxiety was rising as well. “Good, Cuz. Good. You need to remember to take those every morning and every night.” Alphas and Betas were rushing past them as they stood behind a pillar in the crowded train station. The mass of people was complete chaos. “If you don’t, then your body will start stinking. And if your body starts stinking, then you’re as good as dead.” Arthur nodded quickly, every importance drawn onto his cousin’s face. Jett winced but his mouth quirked into a classic grin. “You’re gonna do great, mate. I’ve seen you train these past months and there isn’t an Alpha close to what you can offer. Don’t be scared. Don’t show fear. And whatever you do, don’t allow your biology to get the best of you.” Arthur swallowed, placing his hand on top of Jett’s, squeezing it comfortingly. Jett smiled wider, brows furrowing in a rare sign of emotion before pulling him into a tight hug. “You won’t just be doing this for me.” His breath was hot against Arthur’s shoulder as he buried his fingers into the fabric on Jett’s back. “You won’t just be doing this for the power, or for the wealth. You won’t be doing this for your family or Lord knows yourself.” Jett pulled away, gazing admiringly into Arthur’s emerald eyes in adoration before saying, “You’ll be doing this for the cause. For those who have died in your name for this moment. You are carrying a heavy burden, mate. I know that. But you have the strength that none of us do, and that’s why you’re given this burden.” Patting Arthur’s shoulder once more he released him from his hold and gave him a light push in the direction of the trains. “Now make us proud.”

And just like that, he was alone. Pushed from view of his cousin by the swarming crowd of dominance, busying voices and rushed hollers. They were all fighting to get aboard the stationed train, only in place for a mere sixty seconds more. Not taking a second more, he turned and squeezed through the crowd. Is shorter and Omega-framed demeanor allowed him a great advantage over his bulkier adversaries, as he was easily able to slip between the curves of their torso right to the front of the pack. With his luggage slung over his shoulder he waved the edited ticket into the air. A parliament soldier, stern-faced and square-chinned as most were, gazed down at him with disapproving eyes. He attempted handing him the ticket as two betas behind him tried to shove their way in front. “We don’t allow Omegas.” The soldier growled in belittlement, and for a second, Arthur’s heart skipped. In a play of mock horror, his mouth dropped and his eyes furrowed, with his teeth baring like the very men who were pushing into his back and elbowing him in the spine, he psuedo refrained from snapping at the man.

“Sir. I’m afraid you are mistaken. I am a Beta, and once you look at my passport you’ll see that I am very much applicable for the Purge.” The soldier looked doubtful but took the ID and ticket into consideration, shock registering instantly on his face. Eyeing Arthur only once more, he nodded and opened the train gate, allowing him access. Arthur half stumbled onto the train floor, the crowd roaring louder in disgust to his passage.

Arthur, of course, had the physical appearance of an Omega; short, fragile-looking, feminine in every way. A shower of golden hair fell just above his thick eyebrows and his green eyes held a nearly child-like innocence. Or at least to the uninformed. So it was much of a surprise that the guard had believed him to be a Beta, which lead him to ponder what exactly his passport said. After all, Omegas were banned from every learning how to read or write, deprived of the fundamental of succeeding in society. Though his family had never quite treated him like the fragile creature he was seen as, they were too poor and too busy to grant him the gift of literacy. Thankfully--as Jett had informed him--this would not be a problem seeing as many Betas couldn’t read or write either due to the same fate of being impoverished.

As he was pressed to the wall of the train cart by the overloading mass of bodies, he was just able to catch a glimpse of the snarling crowd that shoved their fists into the air. Suddenly, the there was a kick in the floorboards, then a following vibration. It was too loud to hear what the intercom was saying but it wouldn’t take much to realize they were about to head off. When the rest of the crowd realized this, they turned savage upon the soldiers who tightened upon their artillery. There was a sharp shouting from a soldier--the one who had allowed him passage-- and suddenly there was commotion from farther ahead. The doors were closing. There was around four doors on each train car, and as they shut ever so slowly, compressing with a hiss, it was made obvious the rest of the crowd knew this would be their last chance.

See, the Perge wasn’t just a show of entertainment for the world. It was a way to make life better. To allow a cushioned life, protection from all that could harm you including hunger, illness, and economical strain. And many more than desired it--they lusted for it. In the world Arthur lived in, especially in London, nearly 90% of the population survived with protruding ribs and dirty faces. And nearly half of that percentage died of--if not disease--from fighting for a future. The police, the soldiers, there was no difference between one and the other. Teams of armored Alphas would crowd the streets, and if one person dare look at them wrong, they would instantly be either sprayed with tear gas or worse.

In a time, London was a place of excellence, of equality amongst all humans. No one quite remembers when that changed, some say it was when King Frederick was killed in the Unspoken War, better known as World War V, his widow--the Queen--marrying King Danik of New Belarus. Many--most of the wealthier class--said it was a blessing that King Danik took claim of the throne, saying it would keep the rebels in line. Which ever came first, it did not matter. The golden age had long since passed with the Unspoken War, and so too did London’s excellence.

For a moment, Arthur was quite grateful to the elbow unconsciously sticking him in the ribs and pressing him into the corner of the caboose. Because out the window, he could see the desperateness in the eyes of the crowd, men and women leaping from the platform onto the sides of the train as they overwhelmed the soldiers. People were screaming, babies were crying, and his heart was thundering rapidly in his chest. The Synners--as the accepted combatants were often referred to--cursed under their breaths as they watched the horror taking place. There was a repetitive metallic grunting, and Arthur realized that the people outside were moving to the right ever slowly. Please, please shut the doors. They have to shut the doors. He kept thinking as the wildness in the eyes of the jumpers was striking Arthur through the soul. There was an unholy scream screeching from beneath the tracks, a man crying out and more screaming. It was then he realized that as the train moved and the people kept leaping on to the sides, they would fall, and they would be caught beneath the wheels. How many screams had he heard? Four? Five? He was literally standing over the bodies of his people, the very people he desired to save. To give a better life. Arthur’s eyes stared unfocused into the muscular back of the man three rows in front of him--it was all he could do to keep himself from sobbing. Even then, he was afraid they might catch him as an Omega if he showed any emotion to the carnage taking place around him. A tear ran down the side of his cheek. Close the door. Close the door.

Something happened. At the far side of the caboose, a woman had made the leap and scrambled her arms on the floor, the Synners pressing themselves away from her. “Please! Please let me on! I have five sickly children!” She had dark brown curls tied back in a bun, her face withered of age. Suddenly, a boot caught her in the jaw and she screamed as she slid from her hold on the steel floor, clawing at nothing until finally being sucked under the train. But not before the door had slammed shut on her forearm, fingers still twitching. The same boot kicked the hand and the door opened just enough to release the rest of the woman to the tracks her torn body lay. Arthur looked at the man the boot belonged to. He wasn’t short, but wasn’t tall, he wasn’t overly muscular, but wasn’t nearly lithe either. And the kindness in his eyes.. well, there was none. Just pure, blinding blood lust--or perhaps that was just the color. A man that stood next to him stared at him hard but said nothing, as did the rest. This was the carnage they lived in. It was kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, survive.. or die. This was an understood lifestyle, and so he was certain that he was the only one that felt the utter fear and dysphoria of what was happening. The only one who’s cheek was wet. The last few doors shut, and there was loud thumping and scratching from the last remaining jumpers, then finally, it was quiet. They had entered the tunnels and were safe from the chaos. He had made it. He had survived.

And now he was truly a Synner.


	2. Cathcart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The train leads Arthur to Cathcart, the Headquarters and setting of the Purge where he is to face his first obstacle; the physical evaluation.

Like sandpaper skittles, he popped one after the other into his mouth, forcing the pills down his throat despite their acidic taste. It was morning. The quaking of the train still bumped intrudingly against his tail bone as it wandered over unmaintained tracks. He winced. Not only had he been sleeping in a fetal position the entire night against the very same corner of the caboose, but the stitches upon his perineum were still sore if not bruised. It was not injury that needed the stitches, maybe to those who needed to see them but to himself and himself only.. it was just a scar for show. Like a man trying to impress the world by adorning himself with scars and making up extravagant stories for each one. Only.. this scar had a purpose. 

 

Looking around, eyes still drowsy and only half awake, he made sure no one had seen him take the dose of suppressants. All he saw was sleeping men and women, snoring and drooling over their biceps in uncomfortable positions. The peeking light of a rising sun struck a line hesitantly across the wall. Due to the lack of space in the train cars and so many Alphas and Betas allowed acceptance for the Purge, they trains specifically run for the weeks of sins were ordered to take out seats and other protruding items. This allowed more passengers aboard, which never helped the tight space. It was so cramped, Arthur felt constricted, his lungs not being able to stretch their max volume. He fell back to sleep. 

 

The next time he woke up, the floor had stopped vibrating. Most of the Synners, save a scattered few, were wide awake, eyes glazed in boredom. Arthur rubbed his nose, sniffing and then pushing himself up the wall to look out the window. They were stationed. Seeing as he couldn’t read the lettering, it made him nervous on where exactly they were. Even if the thought was completely ridiculous, a fear remained that he had gotten on the wrong train, or even worse--they knew the truth of him being a stow away. Arthur took as deep of a breath as he could, thankful he could stand and have a little more room to inhale. It was stuffy but no one was allowed to open the windows. In fact, normally they weren’t even allowed to stop the train until they got to head quarters. Unless. 

 

Eyeing the soldiers and the alignment of small gates on either side, he came to the conclusion that it was, indeed, a toll booth. Free of toll of course but priced with suspicion, he watched as men with rifles ran their fingers along the outside edge of the train, their scalps disappearing to the other side of him. There was a bang underneath his feet where knuckles pounded the floor. Much good that would do if there was a bomb. He supposed it was fair they’d check for any kinds of terrorist threats with the rise of rebellion in England and the Purge being held in the very same place. Last year when the Purge was held in Brazil there were reports of a whole train car being shot up by a terrorist group. A valid caution indeed, just in case they’d find rebellion signs. Signs like him. The conductor and a more decorated soldier were talking near the toll booth station, their faces strict and frozen with age. The conductor gestured to where the train was heading and the soldier nodded, waving a hand and walking away from the conductor, his eyes travelling to his men who seemed to be reporting an ‘all clear’. A few minutes later, the train was lunged forward with a rhythmic, metal grunt. 

 

When the rusted architecture of the station moved slowly out of view, he was greeted by a vast desert of green. As far as the eye could see it was all dry, off-green shrubbery only scarred by the towering fence nearly one-hundred yards high. Likely electric. Inhaling deeply he looked farther near the front of the train where the tracks made a slight curve. A large white building, much like an automotive factory yet run by government officials, sat pompously amongst the shrubs. 

 

This was Cathcart. 

 

Every country had a distinct headquarter building. Amerika’s was the Pentagon, for example, whereas England’s was the newly-created Cathcart Bureau. The name was derived off of Frederick Cathcart, aka the fallen king. Usually Headquarters were stationed in a more urban environment such as the previous location of Buckingham Palace. However, in recent times of terrorism, King Danik thought it best to move it out to a more rural place, where it would be difficult to sneak bombs and things of great harm into such a powerful building such as Cathcart. Parliament as well as the King did business still in Buckingham, but national integrity came purely from the giant white building hidden in the middle of nowhere. With such a large vicinity, it was the perfect place to hold the Purge. 

 

As they shortened the distance between them and Cathcart, the white building seemed to tower higher than even the electric fence, but the length wasn’t even a comparison to the width. It ran nearly out of sight in each direction. As the train kept turning, Arthur realized that the main gate--a massive, dark arch leading into the maze-like thresholds of Cathcart, was reserved for only the one who was chosen to represent England.

 

He would be that representative. Or he would die trying. 

 

Shaking the thought from his head, he watched as the tracks separated to a station around ten miles from Headquarters. A small concrete platform appeared slowly beside them like a pretend station. It looked more like a bus stop in all honesty. There was the faintest sound of tapping and as he--along with the rest of the Synners on the caboose--were pressed up against the windows, he watched as the other train cars emptied out onto the platform. Within the contents of the second car, the platform was completely full with Synners pouring off the edges mindlessly. There was hissing from the far end of his own car and then his own door opened. Whether he was pushed or just simply fell from the compression, he was forced to stumble and catch himself from landing face first into the wall of bodies. No one concealed their annoyance. Arthur laughed nervously, tightening his hold on his backpack as he watched an intimidating line of military RVs leap over the shrubs finally rolling to a stop and kicking dust into the air a few yards from the station. The Synners looked on curiously. Soldiers piled out of the vehicles, hands on their artillery as several men and women in suits also filed out. One in particular Arthur recognized. He was the third prime minister of national entertainment--a wing of government mainly laughed at save during the week of sins. Gregory Fritzgerald was his name, with a poor, white comb-over and a mustache that looked brushed twice a day. He strolled to them and attempted what Arthur believed was a smile as two soldiers quickly put together a makeshift microphone stand. 

 

“Friends. Patriots. Synners.” Fritz began. “Congratulations on making it this far in your journey to make your country proud.” Some of the Synners shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his brogue. Fritz wasn’t really from England, he was from Russia, the power country of the modern world. Since the Unspoken War where Russia had dominated the United States and killed nearly half the allies that had volunteered aid to the past power country, the English had never felt too comfortable around Russians. Most of the soldiers they’d sent over were brutally murdered in ways that were unimaginable for even the gifted killer. Nearly all the deaths of the losing side were maniacally slaughtered, hence the name of the “Unspoken War”. As his King Danik best says, ‘Forgetting is Peace’. “But let me rephrase this.” Fritz continued. “Because you are not quite Synners. Not yet. You may have qualified out of your passports, but the true qualification is the fight to become your country’s representative. Now I imagine most of you are from all over the United Kingdom, where class differs and poverty is more or less abundant. But we are all equal here. And understand that the fellow men that you compete with to just simply compete with the world.. they are your brothers. And after you win and they go home, they will be watching and rooting as good patriots shall. Hoping that our decisions were wise, and you are the best England can offer.” Fritz gestured to the RVs stations around him and he continued, “These vehicles will take you to your first step in becoming a true Synner. Paperwork, physicals, all of the boring and uncomfortable parts will be in this step. If you make it through that, then you can really show us what you’re made of. I wish you all good luck. And a happy Week of Sins.”

 

With the cue of applause, he turned and began talking off-microphone to a decorated officer as soldiers herded the Synners to the RVs. They were more roomy than the train car, but that’s speaking leg-to-leg with your fellow competitor. With two soldiers holding onto the sides of the vehicle, they began in droves towards a protruding building off of Cathcart, also massive in size but little in comparison to the main building. The Synners never spoke to their so-called brothers. 

 

When they entered the building, Arthur trying to see over the broad shoulders and intimidating pheromones, they were issued into long corridors and told to wait along side the walls. This is when the battle of looks occurred, all of the competitors viewing eachothers' bodies and faces, those who started early in trying to look tough faking an involuntary muscle flex here and there. It was annoying and childish, and Arthur took no part in the muscle-match going on around him, pulling his hoodie down over his eyes. No one tried to speak to him. One after the other they were called into rooms along the corridor, apparently going by what sector you sat in. When Arthur was called up he pretended not to feel the eyes on him and the vivacious smirks following. 

 

The room was--big surprise--made of steel and artificial light. There was a man at a cheap fold-out table and a laptop full of a whole membrane of chords leading into the wall to somewhere unknown. The man adjusted his glasses, typing something in his computer, writing something down on a notebook near it and then finally folding his arms upon the table top, gazing at him. “Name.” Arthur came closer with apparently a clueless look as the man repeated a little more annoyed, “Name.” 

“Arthur Kirkland.” He typed it into the computer.

 

“Age.”

 

“19.”

 

“Breed.”

 

Hesitation. Why he hesitated, he wasn’t sure, but this apparently made the man’s eyes narrow and his head lean over just a tad more as he repeated. “Breed.”

 

“B-Beta.” A stutter? There was no reason to stutter! He had been trained for nearly nine months to not stutter at this moment, yet he was tongue-tied nonetheless. The man hesitated as well before typing it in. 

 

“Very good.” It was a comment to be shrugged off the shoulder as the man clearly never meant to comfort Arthur. “Area code?” 

 

“01992.” 

 

“Hertford?’

 

“Yes, sir.” There was a look of judgement before he made a guttural sound and typed it in. 

 

“Can I see an ID and passport?” He took it out of his bag and showed him the two badges, hoping the man didn’t see how sweaty his hands were. He looked up in surprise. What exactly was on that passport? “The minister’s son… interesting.” The minister’s son. Of course. There was a Prime Minister Kirkland, a very distant cousin of their family that probably was part of the whole sham. Jett always seemed to know all the right people after all. “Tell me, how is the minister doing?” 

 

“Oh.” His hands felt clammy and his face sweaty. “Um.. yeah. No. He’s good. I don’t really keep in touch. Daddy issues and all.” It was an embarrassing save but a save nonetheless. The man at the table’s eyes arched before awkwardly turning attention to his keyboard. He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. 

 

“Yes. Well. I suppose we all have that kind of family.. anyways. Please step over to the waiting area and the practitioner should see you soon.” Arthur nodded and turned to the side chairs as the next person was lead in. There was a second room behind the medical curtains of the previous room. A bullet-proof, blind-closed window sat in the wall, as if it was a mini house. The door next to the window opened and a man with a protruding belly and a white coat quirked a brief smile before waving him in, his previous Synner sliding on his clothes on his way out. Arthur swallowed. 

 

Jett had showed him all the tricks on making him look bigger and more Alpha-like, however his biology remained the same. If they were to do a prostate examination, then his secret would be blown. Omegas weren’t biologically allowed to produce semen, therefore there was no need for testicles or a prostate. Special glands were lined within the deeper walls of the rectum which caused lubricant as well as intense sexual stimulation. All of these factors was what Arthur feared would cause the whole thing to be turned to shit. In fact, it was a promise they would give him a full physical. 

 

“Alright, just sit down on the table and let me check your breath, pulse etc.” The man said in a nasally voice. Arthur tried earnestly to not be tense as he sat upon the table. This was the easy part, the practitioner pressing a stethoscope to his heart, making him take off his shirt and trousers so he only remained in boxers. Though uncomfortable, it was indeed easy and harmless. The practitioner checked his pulse, his heart beat, looked at his ears and eyes. But it was then that he turned away to snap on some latex gloves that Arthur’s jaw tensed. “You’ve been fantastic, now just turn over so I can give the prostate examination. Arthur’s heart was practically beating out of his chest as he dropped his draws and turned around in mock annoyance. “Tell me if you feel any slight discomfort.” Well that was the understatement of the century. 

 

He could feel the man’s cold, latex fingers guiding their way up into him, his back muscles tensing instinctively. Arthur shut his eyes tight as the fingers pressed gently on the sides of his rectum, testing for any sensitive areas until they intruded even deeper. He could tell the man was trying to take this as professionally as possible, not wiggling or moving the fingers in any obscene way. And at the least, he could appreciate this. Thank God he took his suppressants this morning. 

 

Not only did it mix a bland, artificial scent with his own biological scent, masking any emotion or feeling that one could smell as Omega, but it also aided in suppressing bodily urges such as cowering from dominance and being aroused by the touch in a wrong place. With an Alpha’s hand half way up his ass, indeed the suppressants were a fantastic invention. Just as the fingers were finding way too personal of a place in his more sensitive region, they were being pulled out nearly instantly. It was then he noticed that he was visibly shaking. “I’m sorry, have I made you uncomfortable?” It took him a while to understand the question, let alone answer. 

 

“Uncomfortable? Your fingers were up my ass of course I’m--” Wait. He could play this differently. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a bit of a bad experience in my past with Alphas and.. hands.” The practitioner blinked at him before a blush swarmed his face. 

 

“Oh. Oh I’m sorry. Well, if it’s any consolation, I didn’t find anything alarming.” Yes. Exactly what he wanted to hear. “I wasn’t able to locate your prostate, but I’m sure the blood test can solve that issue.” 

 

Blood test?

 

In all the months he’d been training, in all the hours of studying what they’d do in the first step.. never had they included a blood test. “Blood test.”

 

“Yes, yes. It’s with all these Omegas now a days trying to enter, you just can never be certain. Plus, seeing as you lack testicles they’re going to most definitely want to see your answers.” He tried not to be tense, he tried. But as he slipped on his draws, he fumbled nervously with the belt. And it was very visible. The practitioner wrote something down but soon grabbed something from the shelf in the back. Pointing towards Arthur, a little metal contraption with a spiked end sat beeping in the man’s hand. “Just press your finger on this, it’ll collect the data immediately and we can send it in for examination.” He couldn’t just refuse.. that would be instant recognition that something was up. So he nodded and pressed his finger upon the stick, wincing at the sharp jolt of the needles pricking his skin. When he pulled the finger away, the tip sported a bubble of blood that he sucked on between his lips. “Thank you. Very nice meeting you, and I wish you good luck.” The man opened the door to see him out, calling the next man in.

 

The next few hours were torturous. There were so many things that could have gone wrong with the physical and now he was just left in a large, loud room that looked like super-sized version of a high school cafeteria. Sitting near a more empty spot in the center, it wasn’t long till more Synners took up the table beside him. He stayed silent, hoodie ducked low. He was completely zoned out into his own world of worry that he almost didn’t hear the chair skid over the concrete floor. The chatter instantly subside while a stench wafted into his nose and made his heart begin racing terribly. It was the stench of an anxious Omega. Looking up, he tried scanning the crowd for the source of the stench when he noticed three soldiers dragging a writhing man away and out the doors. Several Alphas instantly began chattering around him. “Did you see that?” “That was bloody insane!” “How do you think he got past all the guards?” “Must’ve used them suppressors you hear about on the tellie. You can only find them in the black market they say.” “Awful things. Who would want Omegas to hide their scent! Only criminals need those kind of things.” “He didn’t pass the examination. That’s probably why the caught him.” “Fucking Omegas.. probably just wanted some Alpha cock. Or better yet, to distract us.” 

 

Arthur looked up carefully, but not enough for his eyes to be shown. “What do you think is going to happen to him?” He asked slowly.

 

A voice answered, “Probably just send him back to wherever he’s from. I don’t think it’s too big of a crime. Not enough for too long in prison anyways.” He nodded and was about to lower his hood when suddenly a hand tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned to look behind him, there was an Alpha woman towering over with scolding eyes, two soldiers on either side of her. His heart leaped through his throat. They had caught him. That was it. He was done for. The table grew hushed. 

 

“Mr. Kirkland. I’d like to see you in room 36B. We have some questions about your examination that need to be answered pronto. If you’d follow me.” Not like he had much of a choice with the two soldiers forcing him out of the bench and shoving him towards her.

  
They exited the large room. 


	3. Level Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The accepted names are in and he's sure to be on that list but why? Are there friends in these dark places?

The eyes were what worried him. Anyone they passed would instantly look at him as if he was already convicted, revealed to the word of his true identity. But Arthur held firm, lips pierced, jaw clenched, walking in an almost calm demeanor. Almost. The woman lead him down the corridor he’d sat in before, only a few Synners still waiting to be examined strewn against the walls. Turning, she gestured inside of an opened door and he immediately obliged. It looked exactly like the examination room, save no medical curtain behind the table and a chair in front. His eyes gazed down at the laptop on its surface.

 

She sat down on the chair behind the desk and gestured to the one in front. “Take a seat, Mr. Kirkland.” Again, not like he had a choice with guns pressing into his spine. He took a seat. 

 

“Is there a problem, ma’am?” He asked politely, his voice distant as he’d been told they like. Distance from emotion tended to mean strength in their culture, as showing any emotion would be juvenile or just plain weak.

 

“There certainly is. The paperwork you sent in several months ago was looked over along with your examination and we have no medical records or history in general. Not even a birth certificate. Mind explaining this to me?” He swallowed.

 

“Of course. You see, I come from a very impoverished family, one that can barely put food on the tabl--”

 

“Save me the bull crap, ‘minister’s son’ and cut to the answers.” Shit. There was a silence. A beat. Another. 

 

“I apologize ma’am. But I haven’t been living with the family you speak of for quite a long time. I’ve lived in the ghettos where I could afford a job. I sent in what I could.”

 

“That doesn’t explain the missing information, Mr. Kirkland.”

 

“But it does. You see, I am in improper son of the minister. My mother was a whore and I was raised along side said mother. I was born in her brothel.” Save.

 

“If that is the truth, why do you still claim the minister’s name?”

 

“Why do you claim yours? He’s my father. And if his name can get me far in life, I would be a fool not to use it.” Ambition was power. Power was everything to this woman. There was admiration in her eyes. “That is why I do not have any birth or medical records ma’am, simply because my mother couldn’t afford a doctor. When I got sick, we would wait till it healed itself. I am lucky to be alive at this point.”

 

“Yes. I’d say you very much are. Now onto the more detrimental part of this little interview. Could you please explain to me why your anatomy lacks the necessary qualifications of a Beta?” The necessary…? Oh. Arthur’s face began to burn, but he forced it to only a light sensation on his cheeks.

 

“You’re asking me why I don’t have balls, ma’am?” He asked dryly. She rolled her eyes. 

 

“And your length is up for debate as well.”

 

“These are highly personal questions, ma’am.”

 

“And I have all authority to ask them. Now answer.”

 

“Are you accusing me to be an Omega? That’s illegal.”

 

“Which is why you should be answering these questions, Mr. Kirkland.” She was right. If he didn’t come up with something then they would catch on immediately. Thankfully, the story Jett had formed for him fit in like a missing puzzle piece. 

 

“Well if you can be any more indignant, ma’am, I was diagnosed with testicular cancer when I was a teen. Been battling it up to when I got m’jewels chopped off, ma’am.” Now it was her time to blush. 

 

“You said you’ve never been to a medical facility.”

 

“I haven’t.” The reply was a little too fast, so he slowed his voice down a tad. “I was diagnosed by one of my mum’s clients who was a retired doctor when he saw me scratchin’ there. My mother was the one to cut them off and sew them up.” 

 

“The stitches are oddly placed for a castration..”

 

“Like I said ma’am, my mum was the one to do it. She probably sewed me up like she’d sew a blanket.”

 

The woman eyed him long and hard and he proudly stayed his ground. Then she typed something into the computer, forced a smile and said, “You are free to go Mr. Kirkland. Thankyou for your compliance and I shall see you in the announcement room.” They believed it. They believed his examination but how could they with the blood te--, “Is something wrong, Mr. Kirkland?” 

 

He shook off the puzzled face he apparently wore. “No. No nothing at all.” Should he ask about the problem of his blood or his prostate or.. “Nothing at all.” Arthur repeated then left the room. 

 

When he returned to the announcement room, as they called it, the Synners had begun their social escapade. Several had already formed friend groups despite the act being completely counterproductive ranging from similar interests to places of origin. With the setting being already juvenile, the fact such robust, dominant men and women were acting like a bunch of high schoolers was enough to put a smirk on his lips. He took a seat against the wall. A few tried to talk to him, to ask where he’s from, but the gaze he flashed them was enough to clear the vicinity. Arthur could be mistaken as someone dangerous, ruthless.. as someone to be feared. Perfect. For once it seemed things were going as planned. 

 

At five o’clock, there was a buzzer high up on the wall near the ceiling that blared everyone to attention. Evacuating the tables, the Synners gathered around a platform at the other end of the room where Fritz stood. A tablet sat in his greasy fingers. It seemed the man was flipping through the pages on its surface endlessly when he looked up, cleared his throat, and lowered tablet beside his hip. “Gather around. Gather around.” He tested into the microphone. The chattering subsided into soft whispers. “In my hand is the names of those who have passed the examination.. and those who haven’t.” He raised his pointer finger as if it was the most important thing in the world, “Once I press this button, the list of names will be shown on the wall behind me. Those who are accepted will be in green and will exit to the doors to my right. Those who were denied will be in red and will exit to the doors on my left. The doors to my right are embedded with a DNA scanner and have been fed the information of those who have been accepted, so please, if your name is red, save us the trouble and just go to the proper door. Ready? Good luck.” Arthur watched as the finger came gently upon the button. There was a pause. It started slowly but the discoloration of the seemingly steel wall turned into multiple panels flipping into a massive screen. It was incredible. Arthur gazed up at the gargantuan monitor in awe but then began the search for his own name amongst the reds and greens. There was cheering going on all around him as well as the scent of anger and disappointment. Thankfully he could recognize the shape of his own name and to his surprise.. it was green. Everything seemed to slow down, as if he was the only one in the room. And if he didn’t know any better, Arthur would say Fritz had been wishing specifically him good luck. 

 

With a deep breath he started towards the doors to the right as nearly half of the crowd exited the doors to the left. When the doorway became crowded, his pace slowed and once again he felt that compacted feeling of being a sardine can. He was just a few arm lengths from the door when suddenly there was an electric snapping sound a sharp scream of a woman. Everyone stopped to look at her, clutching her arm and examining the scorched flesh. “Like I said.” Came Fritz’s voice on the microphone. “Only the true Synners may pass through the door to my right.” Soldiers instantly issued the thrashing woman away. The horde continued. 

 

Why they decided a tiny hallway, about the width of a hotel floor, to serve as a place of transportation for the Synners was beyond his understanding. For the space made the train car feel roomy in comparison. As his shoulders were squished together, he could feel strong hearts pounding in broad chests. He could hear the huffing and breathing, as if there was a lack of oxygen. Not long after, there was a sudden scent of panic, a shout, an angry demand. Here and there Alphas and Betas began writhing against their brethren in hopes of breaking free of the compact space only to be swallowed deeper. The pheromones of fear even were beginning to affect Arthur, making his breath quicken and his own muscles yearn to lash out randomly. While he kept his limbs close to his body, a woman shouted, “Let us out! We were accepted!” The hallways grew loud with murmuring that turned into loud shouts of help and for a mere second, Arthur was afraid of dying. He’d heard stories of soldiers being packed tightly into enclosed spaces and gassed to death during the war. Was this what it was like? But this. The Synners. They were the champions. Why would they be killed? Was there a mistake? Was the red and the green mixed up accidentally? Right as Arthur’s body began switching into survival mode, he realized suddenly that he was able to take a step. Then another. The crowd was moving forward slowly but surely. And soon, he fell onto soft carpet, the sound of falling water faintly in front of him. 

 

Along with several other Synners, he was panting and kneeling on the floor, sucking in all the oxygen he could. “Congratulations.” Game an echoing intercom voice. It was female with a rather elegant brogue. He was too tired to look up right away but slowly coaxed his eyes to search the room. But it wasn’t a room. Not exactly. It looked more like a resort lobby. The sound of water coming from a luxurious fountain sitting in the middle. His fingers embedded within soft, cream-colored carpet with cushy red furniture decorating the entire ground floor. There were men and women dressed in formal suits with towels draped on their arms and trays of drinks on the other hand lining the opposite wall. Had they switched to a five star hotel?

 

Slowly picking himself up, Arthur gazed upwards to five floors of balconies, a gigantic chandelier hanging magnificently in the center. The light was golden and comforting, especially in comparison to the white, artificial light from the first level. But this definitely wasn’t the first level. This was the second level, the entrance level. This was where he and the rest of the Synners would be staying while they trained and showed what they were made out of to be the representative of England. Of course it would be luxurious, they were practically royalty now. They were first-level Synners. 

 

The smell of fear from before was practically non-existent now, replaced by fascination and amazement. “What you have just experienced was our simulation of before-death fear. That fear is what you will have to be rid of if you are to be the final Synner, and England’s Representative for the 24th Annual Purge.” Intercom flicking on again, the crowd murmured. “We will be running several simulations of your choice the next few days and we will be watching through the lenses of our top-of-the-line camera system throughout the headquarters. You will find the name board in the very lobby you stand in on the left wall.” Everyone looked to the left and saw a monitor about the size of a large window. “Each day, our judges will be ranking you according to what you have to offer, by the end it will be me who decides. So relax for now, and enjoy yourselves, my dear Synners.”

 

There was whistling and cheering as the crowd motioned towards the front lobby desk where they would say their name and receive a key to what room they stayed on. Arthur’s key was to the fourth floor, the number engraved in glimmering golden type of what room he was in. Off center sat an elaborately-decorated elevator, completely made of glass just behind the fountain. As the Synners began chatting amongst their newfound friends, making their way to their rooms Arthur was sure to follow. He pretended not to be focusing directly at the cameras surrounding the lobby, though he took mental notes of each individual one. Some attempted to hide from the average onlooker, tiny ones in potted plants and such. While others appeared to be straight out of a prison ward on each pillar of the lobby. He’d have to tread carefully under these eyes. 

 

His room was simple, fashioned like an average condo. However, to Arthur, it was luxurious and something that he could never afford himself. The walls were painted a rich pumpkin shade and the floor completely carpeted save around the kitchen which was a tan stone color. The bed was a king sized mattress with sheets perfectly tucked and a handwritten card folded in the center. He didn’t bother trying to read it, but he assumed it was some kind of greeting, and of course, the ever so popular phrase ‘good luck’. Luck? What would a simple wish to in his or any of the Synner’s cases. It was completely useless. 

 

Mulling over this idea he exited the door and stood upon the balcony, looking down at the lobby below. As he watched several groups of Alphas and Betas drink together at the bar and laugh about their pasts he wondered about things that were completely out of his jurisdiction. Things like if he’s chosen, which is a one-of-sixty-seven chance at this point, then what would it feel like to kill his first human being? Sure Jett had trained him intensively on dummies and old brick buildings but to actually kill a living creature. Was he really prepared for this? 

 

“Annoying isn’t it?” 

 

Arthur practically jumped as he realized someone had leaned beside him on the railing. “S-Sorry what?” It was a taller man, probably in his mid to late thirties but blessed by age. More importantly, he held kind eyes. Eyes made for smiling. 

 

“My bad, sorry if I startled you, mate. Name’s Marcus.” He reached out his hand to shake Arthur’s. Arthur just looked back down at the lobby. Marcus frowned only just. “Not too friendly are you? I suppose you can’t be if you’re in this kind of place..” At least he understood the mentality. “Those blokes down there probably don’t have a single bloody clue what they got into. But I don’t need to be preachin’ your thoughts, do I?” Arthur glanced at him, wondering what exactly he wanted and if he would come to trust this man. 

 

“My name’s Arthur..” 

 

Marcus made a noise of acknowledgement, smiling wider. “So. Where you from, Arthur?” 

 

“Hertfordshire.” 

 

“That’s not too far away, is it?”

 

“No. I suppose not.” Arthur’s face was barren of any extravagant expression, completely opposite of Marcus who hadn’t stopped smiling from the beginning. 

 

“I’m all the way from Cornwell. Worst train ride of my life.” This made him crack a grin, but he quickly let it fade as the moment turned silent and uncomfortable. He shifted his weight slowly. 

 

“I apologize, mate.” Arthur said, turning so his elbow dug into the side of the railing as he leaned. “I’m afraid that I’m not too good at this friend thing. I don’t really see the point, at least not in our situation..”

 

“And rightly you shouldn’t. Friends will be the death of you. But allies.. now allies are useful.”

 

“There’s a difference?” 

 

“But of course! Allies are just a mock friendship, completely created from a functionalist perspective whereas friendship holds a more intimate, emotional meaning.” Arthur turned back to the balcony, making a sound of acknowledgement. Marcus continued, as if unsatisfied. “For example. Using a friend is taboo, but using an ally is necessary. Besides, an alliance is how you get farther in this game.”

 

“Please pardon me if I’m wrong, but are you wanting me to catch on to something?” 

 

“Well I’m hoping only after the twentieth time saying ‘alliance’ you’d get the hint.” This man was amusing, charming, and handsome. If Arthur wasn’t on suppressants he’d damn well be drawn to this man intimately. 

 

“So.. you’re asking if I’d be interested in forming an alliance with you? Isn’t that detrimental to the whole competitive thing? Even if at the end of this whole competition, there can only be one representative..” 

 

“Ah, but you see, I don’t have any plans on making it even close to the top spot.” This caught Arthur off guard as he stared at him like he were to stare at a ghost.

 

“You don’t? Then why did you sign up in the first place?” 

 

“Well. We all have our reasons.” He said. “Mine happens to do with impressing someone back home. Now say I was picked, I wouldn’t make it in the actual Purge, not at my age, and why would I want to get killed in the first place? It would be very hypocritical to me wanting to share the rest of my life with that person.” Marcus did have a point. Arthur thought it silly but just shrugged and said nothing. “Also, Jett would have a fit.” 

 

Arthur went rigid instantly, gazing at Marcus wide-eyed as the man grinned ear-to-ear, winked, then strolled off to his neighboring condo. He stood there, frozen in place as he tried to understand exactly how Marcus knew his cousin. Were they friends? Lovers? Enemies? Was Marcus a part of the rebellion? Just as he was slipping his hand into his pocket he was surprised to find the sharp, flimsy edge of a crumpled up piece of paper within the deep confines of the cloth. Arthur hadn’t put it there, so Marcus must have. He wasn’t stupid enough to take it out in view of the camera behind him, so he ducked low and re-entered his room, going straight to the bathroom. Once he slipped into the shower and closed the curtain he finally felt at a blind spot, being able to take the piece of paper out of his pocket. Arthur dreaded silently as he opened the folded up wadd that Marcus knew of his illiteracy, and to his relief, he apparently did. Instead of writing, there were symbols and pictures telling him that he and one other will be working with him up to the Purge and that the other unknown ‘ally’ was responsible for the blood tests passing. He exhaled gratefully. This just became a little more bearable. 

 

~O~

  
  


There was a loud siren blaring at first vaguely but going louder with every octave. Arthur’s eyes squinted tighter together against the soft feather pillow but flew open as it seemed to be screaming into his ear drum. Forcing himself out of bed, he stumbled before catching himself on the headboard, then on the dresser. Fumbling on a clean hoodie and some baggy sweat pants he made his way out to the balcony still half awake and messy haired. Arthur wasn’t the only one. 

 

All around his floor Synner were confused and tired beyond believe, stumbling like zombies to the elevator where a line had formed. “Do you know what’s going on?” Marcus asked from beside him. He had a crusty string of dried drool on the side of his cheek.

 

“I suppose they want us to get up.”

 

“Well that’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. This must be a nightmare for those who were drinking last night. Can you imagine being hungover in this shit?” Arthur could barely hear Marcus over the screaming of the siren, all the while stumbling to the elevator. Once he was on the lobby floor, he followed the rest of the Synners out through a pair of double doors, just in back of the pillar hosting the elevator. 

 

The double doors lead directly into a colossal metal room, twice the size of the average factory warehouse. This room however seemed much more refined and decorated than other rooms, with flags of the symbol of the Purge--a golden torch with a halo-framed flame flickering on its pedestal-- adorning each wall. While the lighting was once again highly artificial, there were glass rooms surrounding each wall that seemed to lead into some kind of seminar system. Arthur presumed it was most likely for training. Amongst the many platforms made out of gymnastic floor, stood Fritz and his microphone, reading over the tablet in his hand. Before he realized it, there was a table in his hand as well, the butlers and servants from the lobby passing out a tablet to each person. He traced a finger over the paper-thin sheet of carbon glass. It hummed beneath his touch and then awoke to a default screen. Arthur had never held anything so expensive in his life. 

 

“Each of you should have a tablet now. This will be your life source from now on.” Fritz explained. “The equipment is very easy to manage, I assure you, as most of it has pretty little pictures on each button.” Arthur found this relieving while others scoffed as if they were a scolded child. Fritz suddenly took something out of his back pocket, and the Synners leaned in with close attention. In his hand draped a red and gold ribbon, a golden, weighted clip embedded within the end of the fabric swung over the side of his fingers. “This is a ticket. The very ticket for your survival, the battery of the fantastic machine you hold in your hand. You will find several of these around the arena usually in extreme places out of average reach. These are fundamental to your survival in the Purge.” Gently, he clipped the metal side of the ribbon into a port in his tablet and suddenly the monitor flickered up into a hologram, an image of the screen displayed before their very eyes. It flickered faintly but all the while was clear and defined. There was a slightly buzzing, beeping sound and a window popped up on the image saying in green letters but also voiced ‘ticket acknowledged’ and then it seemed there was a photo panel of weapons. “The hologram is touch sensitive. You can swipe your finger back and forth,” he did so, “and the images will move in that direction. You can only choose one weapon per ticket. So choose wisely.” 

 

Those who had never seen such technology before, those like Arthur, gazed in wonder at the machinery as if it was something created by aliens. While others, those who were most likely of the wealthy class, were bored and flipping through apps and such on their tablets, breaking them down mentally. 

 

Fritz suddenly prodded the hologram with his finger, it seemed as if the finger would go straight through the hologram but the tip was indented slightly revealing that the surface was solid. But that was only basic to the magic performed after. There was another buzzed beeping and a window popping up, the voice reading, ‘weapon acknowledged’. Suddenly, piecing together like some kind of advanced technological maze puzzle, sat a hologram-generated pistol in his once-empty right hand. The crowd hummed with wonder. Fritz seemed to soak up their stupor and held the barrel of the pistol up to the ceiling. “I assure you, this is a real instrument, a tool made for killing. If I shot a bullet into one of you now, it would be a real bullet. However, once I shoot three bullets, as is the given amount..” Three ear-shattering bangs flashed from the tip of the gun into the ceiling, dust falling from above. The gun disintegrated as if it was never real but just simply off a hologram image short after. Another awed reaction, “it will disappear and will no longer be able to use. The bullet will remain embedded in your victim, or in my case, the ceiling.” Whether it was from the shock of this technological wonder or because of pure social instinct, he dropped his hardened mask and laughed along with the rest of the Synners at the petty joke. The crowd tore in an applause at the spectacle, incredulous of what they had seen. Fritz practically beamed. “Scientists have been able to bring computer-generated images into reality. This is the world we live in, the modern era. An advanced era. Use this to your advantage. The very arena the Purge is held in will be changed to a different layout each day, this could range from deserts, to tundras. The great plains to the Caribbean. a forest of trees or a forest of fire. Do not take this as mere holograms, because these are very much real and at the whim of the specialists behind the computer, all of it could change in an instant as if your very person was in a computer.” He took another ribbon from his pocket. “Like I said. These are your tickets of survival. You  must  be able to obtain these or you will perish.” 

 

“The tickets of each arena will coincide with what you’ll need. In a game of offense, you will see mainly weapons and tools of survival here and there, whereas in games of defense, you will see tools of mainly survival and then weapons here and there. These include water, tents, a fire, food. Many days will start off with you being drugged by something that will force your body to react in a way proper to the game, such as in gluttony, lust, and sometimes wrath. Tickets that carry antidotes to these drugs are rare and hard to come by, but do exist within the arena. Otherwise you must make do with the options on the ticket.” Arthur retained the information easily, storing it in a box at the back of his mind as he glanced around the stage. There were men in jumpsuits, trainers most likely. Each one seemed like the average drill instructor. “In the purpose of training, you will be given an unlimited number of tickets. Each of the rooms you see are computer operated and will be programmed by the instructors you see here. You will not be given a warning on what map you are given or your challenge, and there will be no drugs administered during training. You are free to begin.” Fritz typed something into his tablet, the hologram nonexistent with the ticket of before. The screen at the very back of the warehouse, black with white type, suddenly flipped like the monitor from the examination level. The names switched their sequence and Arthur noticed he had been placed somewhere in the middle. Names placed at the bottom had lacked attendance to the information session, most likely hungover and still in bed. As if on cue, Synners dispersed to the different glass rooms, many of the friend groups debating which would go first and if they’d watch each other. 

 

“Hey, mind if I watch you train?” Marcus suddenly said from behind him. Oh god was he becoming one of those morons? 

 

“Don’t you need to train?” 

 

“Um. Mate. What did we discuss last night?” Arthur’s face fell flat as he remembered their talk. 

 

“Right. Uh. Sure. Sure, just. Don’t distract me.” 

 

“I’m a distraction? I’m honored.” He fled the laughter despising the light warmth in his cheeks, heading straight to the nearest room where his training would begin.


	4. Broken Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus and Arthur train rigorously to move up in on the scoreboard forcing Arthur out of his comfort zone. After a crushing defeat by the leading Synner, Haggus, Arthur realizes he has begun imprinting on Marcus which forces him into a pseudo heat.

Hum. Buzz. Swat. A holographically recorded bird sound. It was not unrealistic, not in the slightest. Everything was touchable, suffocating, breathable. The computer even generated the muggy air that inhaled and exhaled with much difficulty. He could feel the itching of insects on his arms, leeches on his legs, he could feel the plant life brushing against his shins and thighs as he traveled through the tropical forest. Buzz. Hum. A hand swatted the computer generated mosquitoes that pricked his skin. 

Taking out his tablet he looked at the background of the screen, finding that it had changed from a default background to something like the monitors of the training room. Black background with white letters and then a picture in the space similar to the average road or restroom-styled sign. The little blocky man was running and then a hill with what looked like a ticket on the top.

So they wanted to see him endure climate? Wanted to see him run and show his muscles? Simple enough. Tucking the tablet under his arm he ventured further into the jungle, an invisible monkey howling above him, undoubtedly real. An idea struck him suddenly and he slipped his hand into his pocket where his tickets rested all bundled up. It was a great difficulty to get them out of the pocket, many slipping out and scattering on the ground as he simply just tried to grab one. Gathering them back up and placing all but that one in his pocket, he slipped it into the tablet and watched the holographic screen flash up to eye level. ‘Ticket acknowledged’, the voice read. A photo panel was brought up with a choice of weapons and survival items. While he wanted to go with the water, he knew that there might not be such luxury tickets in the arena, so he flipped through the pictures till he saw what he was looking for. Pressing the button, his right hand suddenly was wrapped around the hilt of a machete. Arthur weighed it admiringly before the ticket disintegrated, putting the tablet back under his arm.

The change was noticeable in his pace and he was thankful that the foliage tore down much easier. Cutting through the dense shrub and having it fall beneath his boots, he heard the sound of water ahead, only to nearly latch onto a vine in order to save himself from falling over the edge of a waterfall. Ahead of him was a clear mile-long canopy of trees with not a single hill in sight. The wind against face with the mist of the water definitely didn’t feel like a part of a computer. All of this seemed way too real. What if he couldn’t get out? What if he wouldn’t be able to figure out what he was suppose to do? What if this happened in the arena? What if he didn’t make it to the arena. There was a sudden crackling sound of vines snapping, but just before he was able to view the unraveling foliage, he muddied shoes stumbled backwards. His arms waved out trying to grasp something that wasn’t there, and then he plunged.

Arthur was about to let out a scream, the fall feeling all too real when the world flickered and he met the bottom of his 1 foot fall into the scenarios mat floor. To the right, Marcus stood behind the glass wall with pursed lips as the instructor was typing in something on the computer. Arthur let out a shaky breath and punched the mat, picking himself up and tuning towards the door. “You.. didn’t do… terrible.” Marcus tried to comfort but Arthur was not in the mood. 

“Bugger off. The map was too hard. It’s defective. I’ll find a different room.” As he crossed the main training area he couldn’t help but steal a look to the board. His name had moved significantly down. Almost to the complete bottom. In each room on the other side, Synners were fighting invisible things with invisible swords, shooting invisible weapons, or climbing invisible mountains. The instructors and other resting Synners would watch them on the laptops where the world within the room was very much visible. On the platforms in the center, Synners were matching off against each other in real combat, letting out shouts with each punch and laughing afterwards. They weren’t giving up. He was. His fist clenched and he spun back to the previous room where the instructor pretended not to notice, just typing on the laptop. Marcus smiled. “Shut up. My name went down, I have to fix it..” 

“Well I’m glad you’re giving the defective map another try.” Arthur said nothing and tapped the instructor on the shoulder, his head looking up at Arthur. 

“Would you like a different map, sir?”

“No. No, same map. Place me back where I was before I fell.” He said, entering the room once more. It was simply a room with black walls with a blue, grid-like wallpaper. The floor was the type of mat you’d see at a gym, the rims of the room covered in hard black stone. There was a moment of silence from the nearly soundproof glass. A minute. Another minute. Then the panels began to warp and the mat beneath him formed into something rough and dusty, the air turned humid and he lacked the ease to breath. Soon, the sound of water could be heard to the left of him where the waterfall turned misty in his eyes. Arthur, remembering his stance, reached his arm out to prepare a grab, and sure enough, the vine appeared wrapped around his fingers. He looked down at the ground below, twisting the machete in his hand and still remembering the feeling of air shaking his body the whole way down. Not this time.

Closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath, he looked at the trees whose vine he grasped. It was sturdy and tall. Stabbing the machete into the ground, sparking against a part of stone, he clambered up the moist bark of the tree. Pulling himself up and onto the middle branch he ambled upwards carefully, telling himself to not look down. Never. Never look down. Higher and higher he climbed until he was sitting upon the top branch looking out over the canopy the opposite way; the way he’d come. In this direction, there indeed was a hill and at the top of the hill was a stick coming out of it. He let out a relieving breath, stored the direction to memory and climbed down. Taking off at a steady pace he slashed the vines and plants as he run, hopping over logs and streams until finally making his way to where the rainforest cleared and the hill began. The grass was mushy and muddy as he climbed, his legs completely covered in the soil. 

It was annoying, this biome. Not only was it difficult to breath but it had apparently been raining for days in this virtual, imaginary world. Not to mention the aggravation he felt that he could’ve had a fantastic score if he had just decided to turn the opposite way from the beginning. Now, his score was a joke.. but at least it would be complete. Clawing his fingers into the unsettled mud, he slipped and tore his way up the incline until he was finally able to grasp an arm on the metal pole embedded at the top. Pulling his body weight to his knees and finally to his feet, he examined the mud caked between his fingers. It felt wet and cold and smelled of earth. He had to keep reminding himself that it was still just virtual, he was still in the computer. Examining the tip of the pole, he saw that a hole the size of a ticket port indented into the top of the pole. With a realization he smeared his hands on his pants and grabbed a ticket, clipping it into the port and hearing a beep of a recognition. Then, the world disintegrated around him, the muddy incline hardening gradually into a mat, the vast world condensing and warping into four walls. He relaxed his strained body and looked down at what once was muddy clothing that was now perfectly clean. He was back in the gridded room, the wall to his right a window to a stern-faced Marcus. Sniffing, Arthur got up from the floor and made his way out the room, refusing to acknowledge the doubtful look on the instructor’s face. 

~0~

“You can’t just spend your time up in your room.” Marcus called through the door. Arthur tensed. 

“Go away.”

“Arthur, you’re acting juvenile I hope you realize that.”

“I am well aware of what I am, thank you.”

“Look, I know that you feel embarrassed but you can’t just give up. What would your cousin think?” 

“The hell would I know?! Why do you even care about my cousin?! Have you even met him? He’s headstrong and an egotistical prick!” 

“Don’t say that.” Arthur bit his lip at the growl in Marcus’ voice. “Don’t say that about him.” There was a silence and then his legs found their way to the door, knob turning and Marcus’ face greeting him.

“Why do you care so much about pleasing my cousin, Marcus?” Arthur repeated, eyes locked on the taller man’s face. It seemed troubled. Hesitantly, the Alpha’s lips trembled into words.

“I… It’s nothing. I just owe him a favor is all.”

“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?” Marcus perspired under the weight of Arthur’s eyes. “You love Jett. Don’t you?” 

Marcus was pale save the blush warming his cheeks. “Listen, my personal feelings towards your cousin does not change anything.”

“He’s the Omega you’re trying to impress.”  
“Arthur! The bottom line is that you need to be the representative of England and if you aren’t then all is lost. Focus on yourself before you start reading into something you shouldn’t.” Marcus’ broadened shoulders faded from view as he quickly left Arthur’s presence and returning back to the training hall. There was only one day left to show them what he was capable of, and despite the nailing he gave Marcus, he was very concerned about what Jett would think. What if he did give up? What if it was all for nothing? No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t let Jett down like that, and in a weird way, he couldn’t allow Marcus to fail Jett. 

An hour later Arthur found himself in the training room, several of the Synners panting and sweaty, bent over with towels around their necks. A few glanced at him with a look of snarky judgement, pretending not to glance at the scoreboard after doing so. But his own curious eyes followed closely at the board. He was third from last. There was a change suddenly, and he noticed Marcus’ name move up to the top ten. To the left, his friend was exiting one of the training room, wiping the sweat from his eyes and then slinging the towel over his shoulder. The glance exchanged between the two was short-lived as Marcus turned towards the center platforms, beginning to wrap his hands. Arthur grimaced and cut towards him. “Nice to see you showed up. You done sulking?” 

This shot a furious adrenaline rush through Arthur and he growled, “You done being a prick?”

“Oh, got me there.”

“I’m not trying to pick a fucking fight with you, I just want to talk--”

“But I am.”

“You are what?”

“Trying to pick a fight with you. And winning. I’m not in the mood for talking, Arthur, especially with the kind of bull-shit hodge-podge you threw at me an hour ago. If you want to talk, talk with your fists.” Before Arthur could protest, Marcus had thrown a bundle of wraps at him, untangling upon his being.

“I’m not going to fight you, Marcus.” Arthur growled, but Marcus had already climbed onto the platform, barefooted and obviously itching for combat.

He twisted a snarky grin down at Arthur, hazel eyes glimmering viciously. “I’m not asking you, Arthur. I’m challenging you. Or are you too much of an Omega to accept an Alpha’s challenge?” That was walking too close to the line, a choir of ‘Oooohs’ and juvenile chanting suddenly surrounding them. The resting Synners had heard everything. They wanted to see a joke made out of Arthur, they wanted him to submit. Much to his spite to fighting someone who didn’t deserve pain, he began wrapping his hands and pulling himself hesitantly onto the platform.

The mat was similar to the training rooms save a lining of white powder chalking up his feet. Synners gathered around the platform in interest. “Didn’t think you had it in ya’.” Marcus sniggered knowingly. “I wonder how fast a Beta submits.” Where was this coming from? Why was he saying this? Pensive with such thoughts, he was slow to realize the match had already begun, bringing up his forearms to block Marcus’ attack. They shouldn’t be fighting. They were friends--no. Allies. They were allies. Of course there was no personal attachment, that’s why Marcus was acting like this, that’s why he hit him again and again with the intention to kill. Marcus was not his friend. And because of his smart mouth, he had obviously revoked their alliance. 

Again Marcus threw a mean left hook before he could block, catching him on the jaw and an array of wincing from their audience followed. He was forced down and pinned onto the mat by the much stronger Alpha, and before he could stop himself his breath was hitching and his instincts were taking over. His legs were spreading ever so slightly and his neck was growing more and more exposed. This was biological need, The scent of an angry Alpha was a scent that brought Omegas to their knees, suppressors or not.

“Don’t give in.” Came the concerned whisper of Marcus, as he realized the man’s meaty forearm was digging into his neck lips inches away from his face. Marcus’ fiery eyes searched Arthur’s though to the audience it resembled hatred. “You have to deny your biological need, Arthur. Fight it.” Then his voice raised as he shouted into his face, “Fight me you son of a bitch!” 

“What did you say Jett?” There was a trickling stream to the right of him, clogged with dead fish corpses and sewage from the nearby factory. Birds had long since stolen their songs away to healthier lands. Gnarled trees scratched and groaned above them through the howling breeze. A storm was on the horizon. His cousin, shaggy brown locks and the usual bandaged nose glared at him from across the stream.

“I said fight me, Arthur.” His voice dripped venom, his posture shifting into the pose of an advanced combatant. Leaves crinkled under Arthur’s feet and his skin became peppered with goose bumps.

“I won’t. You’re my cousin.”

“If you don’t fight me now, I’ll tell Scott what you really think of their cause. Of our cause.” Arthur paled at this.

“Y-you wouldn’t. You promised.”

“This is war, Arthur. Now you either cross this stream and get those dainty little feet wet and fight me, or Scott will know. You will be our prophet, Arthur. You will be the king’s demise.” 

“I don’t care about the bloody king, Jett!”

“You best start then. Fucking fight me!” There was a momentary pause of adrenaline, and then Jett turned. Before he could take another step however, Arthur’s feet got wet.

A knee came slamming between Marcus’ legs and with his guttural groan, Arthur’s legs twisted around the man’s thigh, elbow smashing into his ear. Rolling into the tumbling body, he soon was on top of Marcus, pinning him to the mat, the Alpha’s lips now powdered with chalk. In that one sequence of moves, Arthur had won. An instructor blew a whistle and Arthur released Marcus, backing away from the beaten man. No, a beaten Alpha. He had just won a fight against an Alpha. When the ringing in his ears softened, he realized the crowd was dead silent, their eyes glued to him in surprise. Marcus smiled at him as he waved off the stand-by medics. “That wasn’t a fuckin’ challenge.” A voice shouted over the crowd, a thick northern brogue lining each word. As the Synners separated to clear a path for the man who spoke, Arthur paled at the identity of the man. His hair was curly and flaming red and a disgustingly sodden beard hung below a frozen frown. His eyes were unnaturally blue, nearly white. His entire build was monstrous compared to Arthur and he didn’t know why he hadn’t recognized him before. This was the man from the train. The man who had kicked the woman through the door and ended her life as easily as deciding which undergarment to wear. In that moment, he was completely concerned that his fear was leaking.

Heals thundering with each stride, he could practically hear the deep swallowing of Marcus as he clung to the side of the platform. “Marcus. Who is this giant?” Marcus’s voice trembled.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I didn’t expect this to happen. When I challenged you I..”

“Who is this, Marcus?!” Arthur repeated. Another swallow.

“Haggus. He’s in first place at the moment.” This time, Arthur swallowed.

“Fuck.”

The mat creaked on the opposite edge of the platform as Haggus climbed on. Once standing at ground level to Arthur, there was an even more relevant height difference. The man must’ve at least been 6’8 pushing to seven. His arms with meaty with muscle and covered in a layer of beer fat. This was an Alpha Omegas would throw their lives away for. The most powerful, the most terrifying, the strongest the bravest, the one that could protect their Omega.. this was the prime example. Arthur only found Haggus appealing in this way; through his genetic coding, his biological need. He wouldn’t particularly love to prolong the idea presuming the man to not be very kind outside an intimate relationship. But even though he would never want to act on these facts, this need to be around the strongest of Alphas, it was embedded. And it was a very real terror in this moment. He wasn’t afraid of getting smashed up beyond recognition, he wasn’t afraid of what Haggus could do with his fists to his tiny, frail form… he was afraid that he would surrender immediately. Even now, before the challenge had started, his legs were wobbling, threatening to buckle. “Do I frighten you, little man?” Haggus’ baritone boomed, his chests naturally puffed out and shoulders square. Damn. He’d seen his legs.

“No more than an untrained dog frightens its master, I’m afraid.” Despite his courageous words, his body was already reacting. If he didn’t keep the naturally embedded fear under control, it would start seeping through the suppressants. This challenge needed to start.

“That’s deep.” Haggus sniggered, causing the audience to laugh. Arthur was certain that every training room was empty for this fight. “Then come at me laddy, and see what a real fight is like.” The challenge was initiated and Arthur’s feet instantly took flight. One thing that he could do exceptional on was his speed and agility, something that even Jett always was defeated by. Using this to his advantage, he ducked below Haggus’ right arm, swinging around the beast of a man with a leg swiping the back of the inside knee. But to Arthur’s surprise, Haggus just simply leaned into the swipe, turning with surprising speed and catching the back of Arthur’s head with an elbow of hammering precision. Arthur was sent skidding to the floor mat. “You think you can immobilize me, little Beta? If you’re still alive, I dare you to try that again.” Just the simple power of one blow from Haggus was enough to make him see stars. 

His eyelashes powdered with chalk dust, he looked up at Marcus mouthing ‘get up’ from the sidelines. He got up. But only weakly, finding his skull throbbing where Haggus had hit him. Before he could initiate another offense, something that resembled the power of a semi-truck crunched into his ribcage and sent him flying off the mat and off the platform. The crowd could have caught him, but in the week of sins, no one would take pity on his soul. Instead of the hands of many, he only felt the cold, hard concrete knock the breath out of him. He couldn’t hear, he couldn’t breath, gasping for breath that he couldn’t obtain his eyes dilated blurrily around. Arthur’s ribs were definitely broken, he knew this much. There were applause, faded and distant and blurred. Someone staggered up to him as the clapping came crisp and clear, as too did his vision. Marcus’ frightfully concerned face searched him, brushing over his head and tracing his chest cavity. Arthur made a yelp. Then hands took him to the medical bay. 

~O~

Science is an incredible thing. It can create and it can destroy. It serve Death’s bidding with such ease as a simple prick of the skin. And it can do the opposite as well. Over the course of the past few thousand years, technology has advanced so much, curing cancer, repairing age, granting immortality to those who could afford it. And for Synners during the week of sins.. they were, indeed immortal. 

Arthur laid in his bed, eyes gazing up at the ceiling pensively as he delved into the deepest parts of his mind. His ribs had regenerated easily, his bruises and skull binding back to their original form. Medicine for the rich was like the undo button of life. And now Arthur got the humorously odd urge to jump off a cliff with that power. A knock sounded at the door.

Unfolding his arms from behind his head, he kicked his feet off of the bed and opened the door. Marcus leaned against the doorway. “Oh bloody hell, you aren’t sulking again are you?”

“No. I’m not. You know, you don’t always have to be such a creep standing outside my door. People are going to get ideas.” 

“Of what? You and me? Pah. It’s kind of already obvious you’re the eye candy of the lot. If I’m giving that reputation then that makes me quite the stud now doesn’t it?”

“I’m going to break your nose when I slam this door in your face.” 

“I’d rather you not, thank you very much. But you know it’s true.” 

“What?” 

“You being the eye candy. If you hadn’t proven yourself today, I’m pretty sure people would catch on just from aesthetic appeal that you’re an--mfffp!!”

“SHHSH!!” A hand slammed onto Marcus’ mouth, practically throwing him into his condo. “Are you fucking insane?! I thought you were smarter than this!” As the initial confusion faded and realization hit, Marcus’ face went pale. 

“Oh fuck. Sorry ‘bout that mate. Just a slip up, won’t happen again.” Arthur’s hands were crossed at the door, Marcus on a chair by the wall. In the awkward silence he gleefully looked around, seeming to be satisfied with the look of his flat. “Nice place you got here.”

“It’s the same as every other bloody flat.” Arthur grumbled bitterly. 

“Not this one. It smells like you.” Marcus smirked, inhaling deeply. Arthur blushed. 

“You’re a damn pervert.”

“What’s so perverted about that?” He hated every inch of that innocent mask Marcus loved to sport. Groaning, he threw his hands up and stormed to the refrigerator to grab a beer.

“Everything! You coming in here and sweet-talking me with eye candy and such, telling me you enjoy my scent and being a handsome as fuck Alpha to top it all--” His lips twisted in regret at the words he’d let slip out. Suddenly turning to face Marcus wide-eyed, he snapped the top off of the beer can and began chugging. Marcus leaped from the chair and grabbed the can out of his hand. 

“We’ll have none of that now--”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Arthur was completely emotional and erratic, shaking his head furiously and refusing to meet Marcus’ gaze. He was so terribly embarrassed that his face was growing ripe with blush. “I’m sorry..” But to Arthur’s surprise, he could feel Marcus’ muscular arms hold him, and he hated how he pressed into them. How he wanted Marcus so badly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Arthur. It’s not your fault that you’re imprinting.” 

Arthur let out a sob. “No! No I can’t! I can’t be imprinting!” Marcus ‘shhd’ him and rubbed his fingers along Arthur’s bicep. 

“It’s alright. This is to be expected.” Arthur’s breath hitched. 

“I-it is?!”

“Arthur. Despite your training and the whole reason you’re here, you are… what you are. You can’t deny your biology.” 

“But that’s what you told me to do. That’s what Jett told me to do. That’s what everyone’s fucking told me to do.” Horrified he realized how hard he was clinging to Marcus, and how he couldn’t let go.

“Yes, you have to fight your need, your coding. That’s a very possible thing to do. But to deny what you are, what you were born as.. that won’t do, Arthur. It’s very impossible. Now I am an Alpha, “the word sent shivers down his spine, “and despite my modest disposition, a very strong one at that. You are surrounded by the strongest of Alphas and you will continue to be surrounded with them. Many may even come onto you during the Purge, but you cannot give in.” Arthur’s heart was pounding in his chest.

“Then what do I do? How can I prevent an imprinting? This is torturous, Marcus!” Marcus breathed out suddenly and finally began peeling Arthur off of him, throwing him onto the bed. Arthur loathed his mind and what the action did to his body. Marcus looked red and completely delicious. And stern. So very, very stern. 

“Arthur, you need to listen to me. Take a deep breath before you start going into a flash heat. You took your suppressants correct?” Arthur forced his head to nod but pointed to the dresser.

“T-this morning… n-not t-tonight.” Without hesitation Marcus was digging through the clothes of the dresser until it was completely empty. His finger ran along side the edge of the drawer and sure enough, the bottom peeled away to reveal a baggy of nearly a hundred pills.

“How many do you need to take now?” 

“T-three..”   
“We should do five just in case. Can you swallow them dry?” Arthur nodded panting. Immediately Marcus was on the bed, shoving his cupped hand over Arthur’s mouth and making sure every last pill was swallowed, when he released his hold on Arthur, the man’s eyes were hazy with lust.

“Why is this happening to me?” 

“This is part of your natural heat cycle. It was invoked because of you imprinting on me added with me being so close. I apologize for that by the way.” Arthur just shook his head as if to say ‘it’s not your fault’. 

“I suppose you aren’t going to help me with this..” 

Marcus pursed his lips and it was then Arthur could see just how strained Marcus was. The scent, though subtle due to his morning suppressants was very much there and Marcus could smell every bit of his arousal. And Arthur could see every bit of his. Despite this, despite Arthur horror and mental state, he found Marcus pressing his crotch against Arthur’s, spreading the Omega’s legs to either side of his hips. The position excited Arthur even more and he struggled to keep his head above water, groaning and involuntarily rotating his hips against Marcus’. Marcus groaned too. 

Arthur had thought Marcus could restrain himself, that his love for Jett would keep him at bay. It seemed he was wrong. The handsome Alpha’s breath warmed the side of his neck, tickling his ear as the man breathed lustily, “Arthur. You need to fight me. I am restraining myself but others will not. You think the game of lust will be any different than this?” Marcus couldn’t control his hips grinding compulsively against Arthur’s who whimpered at the building pressure. There had to be some sort of alleviation, there had to be some way to release this unbearable pressure. Another thrust from Marcus and Arthur was nearly over the edge.

“Marcus,” Arthur moaned in Marcus’ ear, he could feel the body on top of him shutter. “Marcus. Please. Help me.”

“I am.” This growl was through gritted teeth, the dimples of a clenched jaw making Arthur hungry for more. “Arthur. Stay with me.” He breathed having to pause to get control of his own breathing. Arthur turned his head to the side, revealing more of his neck and pulling on Marcus’ strings further. The Alpha forced Arthur’s eyes to his, exchanging a look of utter arousal. “Fight me Arthur. Like you did on the platform.”

“I can’t!” 

“You must.”

“No, M-Marcus. I p-physically can’t. My legs w-won’t move.” This was somewhat a lie. He was fully able to move his toes, and his legs and every part of his limbs. But the mental act of pushing through the heat was like tearing an arm off. 

“Push through it, Arthur. During the Purge, I won’t be there.” His voice had grown from stern to angry, causing Arthur’s need to submit heighten. “I won’t be the one on top of you, your enemy will be. And that enemy will have a knife or a shiv or a gun and you will die. Now fight it, Arthur.” Marcus’s lips leaned in to taste the surface of Arthur’s neck where Arthur groaned, carefully nudging a leg against the man’s hips but the nudge was weak and never seemed hostile in the slightest. Marcus groaned into Arthur’s skin seeming to whisper in those hot breaths, “fight it, Arthur. Fight me.” But it had grown into something nearly comforting in weight. “Fight me.” The last words were more clear and angry. Arthur gritted his teeth and sucked in a deep breath wrapping his ankle carefully between Marcus’ legs. This was torturous, his need was stronger than his mental state and even the most simple task of clenching his toes proved difficult. However, in a last ditch effort, he finally twisted both of his legs and swung his arm at Marcus at the same time, able to roll over onto him. But Arthur was still very weak, and soon Marcus had rolled him off the bed where he slammed the poor blonde onto the floor, mouth suddenly crushing onto Arthur’s. 

This was not expected. Arthur squirmed under the man’s grasp but the taste of Marcus’ mouth sent spasms of pleasure through his body. It tasted of home cooked meals and smoke. Of beer and something that was delightfully Marcus. The Alpha could no longer encourage Arthur, he had given into his desires fully, hands searching the Omega’s sides in a desperate act of relieving pressure. His hands were warm. Were kind. They were rough and soft at the same time and gentle. So gentle. For a moment, more than such, he wished he was Jett. He wished he was the man Marcus was picturing in his head.

The feeling of Marcus’ tongue searching his mouth, the dominant growls that trapped Arthur into some kind of freezing pleasure. It was scary, exhilarating, and exciting all together. But he could hear Marcus’ voice in his mind, screaming at him to stop him, screaming at him to not let him betray Jett. He couldn’t allow it. The power that he was mustering, he forced every bit of his strength into him and pushed against the body weight holding him down. But it was crushing. He was on his legs, on his chest, on his shoulders. Marcus was everywhere. The only movement he could possibly make was to bend his arms and his wrists. At this realization, Arthur placed a hand on the mid section of Marcus’ head and another on the opposite side of his jaw. He had to stop Marcus from kissing him. If he stopped him from toying with his chest, he could get some kind of grip and knock him off. The strength he’d built up snapped like a tense rubber band, his eyes closing to aid the action. There was a crack. 

Panting he felt the weight pull off of him and he felt relieved at last, scootching up and away from Marcus on the bed. “I did it… I did it, Marcus..” Arthur panted, rubbing the sweat from his eyes and brushing his bangs back only for them to fall back in his face. But as he searched the man’s body laying on the floor, Arthur’s heart stopped. 

His eyes were open. His body unmoving.

Marcus’s neck had snapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you don't get too attached to characters ;)


	5. Friends in High Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur copes with Marcus' death and has mixed feelings about the mission. Three hours left until the results.

We’re sorry. This number cannot be accessed at this time. Please try again later. “Dammit!” We’re sorry. This number cannot be accessed at this time. Please try a--”Fuck you! Come on!”

We’re sorry. This nu--”SHUT UP.” Arthur kicked the wall, gritting his teeth as a shock of unexpected pain struck his foot and up his spine. He dialled the number again. “Come on Jett, pick up!” He snarled, his eyes dry from tears. Hesitating, he suddenly sparked an idea and dialled a different number. It wrang. And it kept ringing. It was taking so long Arthur began dreading voicemail when a sound came on the other line, static with poor reception.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Jett?”

 

“Arthur? Why are you calling me? And why are you calling my cell number?!”

 

“Jett, I killed him.” The words slipped out instantly, nearly blurred together.

 

“Arthur slow down, I can barely make out what you’re saying.” Arthur’s breath was erratic as his eyes flicked to the shoulder of a military officer around the corner.

 

“I killed him, Jett. I killed him and they’re going to get rid of me.”

 

“Killed who? Arthur what are you saying?!”

 

“I killed Marcus! I’m so sorry Jett I--”

 

“Arthur, Arthur, calm down. It’s not the worst. I’ve been paying attention to the tellie and there wasn’t a clear picture. They cut to one of the Synners when you guys..”

 

“Oh god.” Arthur sobbed, “Jett, please--I didn’t--oh god--”

 

“Arthur! Take a deep breath. When they cut back to the room he had you pinned to the ground and you snapped his neck. This is a good thing.”

 

“How is this a fucking good thing?! I killed him, Jett! He was innocent. He didn’t do anyone harm and now he’s dead!”

 

“It looks like he was trying to rape you.” Is that what they think. Is that what they seriously…

 

“Marcus didn’t rape me! He didn’t--”

 

“Arthur. You need to play this off well. Use this to your advantage.”

 

“Jett. You don’t understand. Marcus was a good man.”

 

“I’m sure he was.”

 

“There’s no ‘I’m sure he was’ crap, you knew him! He would’ve done anything for you.”

 

“As he well should. He’s part of this…. family. And he laid down his life for you. Remember this, let this drive you forward.” Arthur was horrified. Did Jett really blow this off as part of their little cause?

 

“He didn’t do it for me Jett! He did it for you!”

 

“He did it for the cause.”

 

“Fuck the cause! He loved you you fucking pri--” Realizing his voice was much too loud for the observing guards he took a deep, shaky breath, wiping the tears from each eye. “... this isn’t about the cause, is it?”

 

“What?”

 

“You and Marcus. The cause isn’t why you’re so opposed to any emotion from him. Why you’ve ignored his acts of chivalry this entire time. No, it’s not the cause at all.”

 

“What are you saying, Arthur?” He could hear the warning dripping off each word.

 

“It’s because he’s an Alpha isn’t it?”

 

There was a long silence before Jett’s voice growled, “that is absurd. Your brothers are Alphas and I get along with them just fine.”

 

“Every time you stay at our house you refuse to look them in the eye. Face it. You’re not a true warrior, Jett. You don’t want equality. You’re afraid of Alphas.” The line went dead. Arthur realized he had gone too far, that his anger was a display of hurt, of guilt. He had killed Marcus. Good, sweet, caring Marcus that had done nothing but aided him in his journey. Right to the very end. And Jett was too blind with his own ego to even take into consideration how kind Marcus truly was. But Arthur needed Jett. He needed these inside sources Marcus spoke of. He needed to stay strong.

 

He wasn’t just an Omega in Beta clothing. He was a warrior, a warrior for a cause he didn’t even believe in, a prophet from a God that doesn’t exist. Why did he fight? Because had no choice. In the world they lived in he was too poor to ever marry into a good life, to get out of the slums where each day was another fight for survival. That was what he truly wanted. He never cared for this cause that was thrust upon him, he enjoyed the idea of being a strong Alpha’s bride. If only he could’ve been born from a different womb. If only he’d been born to the actual minister’s family and been set up with a dashing young Alpha where he could start a family with. If only.

 

If only he wouldn’t have to kill good people to get what he doesn’t want.

 

There were silent ears as he walked down the hall. Stolen glances and whispered tongues. It was shocking how much of a disturbance it was that this sort of thing would happened, as it seemed to happen every other year in the pre-training buildings at the Purge. Usually when a Synner kills another Synner, it is to get an advantage and that Synner is taken to the capital and normally executed. Rape victims stay quiet until they are either killed in the arena or in rare cases come out when they win. Five years ago a Beta--one who had won the games--admitted to being raped before the Purge had started and nothing happened. Mostly cause the rapist was already dead, and partially because Betas weren’t given exactly equal rights either. Arthur supposed a court trial was not necessary in these circumstances. But it did not stop him from fearing what would become of him.

 

The soldiers lead him to the familiar entry hallways where every room was the same as the last. Five doors down, he was issued in roughly where several high-ranking military officers and politically-dressed figures chattered. The woman that had chided him before was amongst them, so too was the physician. It seemed as if the argument was practically burning with aggression and he fought the urge to flinch into the wall. He couldn’t fight his heart from pounding though. A soldier beside him that sported a firm hand on his arm cleared his throat loudly. The arguing faded only just.

 

All these faces were so new. All these faces that looked at him were so unfamiliar and strong willed. He could practically see the aura of hot-headed nature that surrounded each and every one of them. Jett would hate this.

 

Just as the familiar woman from before parted her lips to speak, a strange, older woman stated loudly, “Welcome, Mr. Kirkland.” He nodded benevolently. She didn’t smile. Her whole stature screamed head supremacy, with a strong jaw line and scowl marks frozen in an aged face. She was utterly terrifying. As if she had expected him to explain himself then and there, she sighed coldly and brushed her aging blonde hair back, sweeping behind her shoulders. “Mr. Kirkland, please take a seat at the desk on the side of the room. And boys, why have you yet to cuff him?” Because he didn’t look dangerous. Because he looked weak, and innocent, and Omega. “This boy is a murderer. Restrain him.” As if on cue he reached out his wrists and they gazed at him oddly. They were expecting him to fight back, to be a killer. Of course. How else could an Alpha die from a lower breed unless said person was a homicidal maniac? Arthur assumed that was what the fight was about.

 

Once he was cuffed and forced to sit on the desk seat in the corner, he just gazed straight at the wall. Arthur was sure to wipe all expression from his face as to not give them any excuse to challenge him. He expected for the arguing to pick back up yet not a single word was spoken and he pondered if they held the power to converse through minds. It would not surprise him.

“You may face us, Arthur.” Those words were familiar. They were from the same head woman yet with her face denied from his vision, he swore the voice was familiar somehow. The soldiers rolled the chair around to face the group of formal Alphas. Their faces were stone cold. Every one of them. The trial had begun.

 

The woman with blond hair stated earnestly, “My name is Brittany Wilson, and all you need to know is that I am a very important individual and because of that you need to be completely honest with me. Now. Can you please explain to me what happened last night at 7:00pm.” So dominant. So undoubtedly dominant.

 

He swallowed. Remembering the words Jett used on the phone call, he pondered about using the rape card. It was shallow, it would sully Marcus’ thriving reputation, who he was, and it would brand him as someone lower than dirt. But it would keep Arthur alive. This option, this horrid decision was against everything he believed in. It wasn’t right. Marcus was such a good person and he couldn’t possibly lie… he couldn’t… but he had to. There was no option. If he didn’t say Marcus tried to rape him, then Marcus would not only be deemed innocent, but he would be labeled what he was; a murderer. They would proceed to sentence him to death--as was the penalty for pre-game homicide--and he would be executed in the capitol promptly. Arthur took a deep breath, measured the beats of his heart, and lied.

 

“At 7:00 pm I was in my room when Marcus arrived at my door. As he was a friend of mine... “ the words stung his lips, “... I let him in. Once he was in we got to talking and things got intimate.”

 

“How so?”

 

“That’s a very personal question..” The brunette woman from his first little interrogation smirked at the familiar sentence. She knew there was no such thing as a drawn line here. Brittany sighed in annoyance.

 

“The footage taken from your apartment reveals you were the first to show arousal, and it increased rapidly over a period of only 3 minutes. Explain to me why this is.” They were looking for a signs of a heat, for a reason to deem him an Omega.

 

“He.. he was saying things that are fairly attractive to me..” A few soldiers snickered under their breaths at how awkward this conversation was, “... I… am a very sensitive person. I get aroused fairly easy.” Brittany’s eyes remained narrowed on him. He swallowed.

 

“And then what happened?”

 

“He advanced and intended to mount me.”

 

“Mount you?”

 

… shit.

 

Mount was a common term in the Omega world, though derogatory. Even Omegas used it to describe a sexual conduct between a fertile Omega and their partner in the hopes of copulation. This was Omega termanology. And he had just outright given them a red flag.

 

“S-sex. I meant he intended to have sex with me.” There silence and a searching of faces. The brunette woman cleared her throat.

 

“Yes, well. Arthur, you have admitted to feeling an attraction to Marcus, so are you saying the event was consensual?”

 

“What? N-no! Not at all. Completely non consensual.”

 

“Please choose which story you’re going to go with.” Growled Brittany.

 

“Look! I told him to get out. Yes, okay, maybe I did feel a crazy attraction to him, and maybe at some point I would want to have sex with him. But that doesn’t mean that if he forces himself onto me when I tell him I’m not ready that it’s a blessing! Are you mad?!”

 

A snarl electrified the room and he was shocked to see that it was Fritz the anger belonged to. His scent of outrage was overpowering. “Know your place, Beta, you are still talking about an Alpha to Alphas.”

 

“That doesn’t give him the right to fuck me if he pleases!” Arthur snarled back, proudly rooting himself to the ground. Brittany growled strictly at Fritz who was about to say something foul to Arthur, causing the older man to sit promptly back in his seat. She was definitely the head Alpha. And he was her underling. How important was this woman?

 

“Mr. Kirkland, thank you, that will be all. You may wait outside and I will call for you when we are ready.” She just stared at him, green eyes glimmering cruelly and so familiar like. The more he watched her, the more he remained seated, the more the back of his mind kept flickering with memory, never quite succeeding in recognition. Who was she? Suddenly, the soldiers on either side of him forced him out of his seat and towards the door where they closed it shut and sat him on the wall beside it.

 

The hallway was quiet.

 

He could hear the muffled voices of the Alphas in the room, squabbling and debating over his life. Arthur gazed upwards at the clock on the wall. Though he could not read, he was a master at telling time. All Omegas were seeing as in certain areas--the areas he was raised in--they were strict to a curfew policy. It was supposedly to slow the progression of a revolution, but what luck that’s gotten them. Roughly 3 pm he allowed his mind to wander. Today was the last day of performance training. The Synners were probably running around like beheaded chickens to raise their scores. In three hours time, the people in there would no longer be decided his fate, but the fate of one person of that group of Synners. Yet, even as he forced self-pity away, he couldn’t help but think of Marcus. Sure, he had no plans of joining him in the top three. He never wanted to go to the Purge. The only reason he was here was to impress Jett and help the little cousin that was thrusted into this godforsaken game of revolution. Arthur wondered what Marcus’ family thought of him. They had obviously seen him kill Marcus on live television. The sound of his neck snapping between his heat-induced hands. It was a tension of adrenaline, he had the slightest feeling of danger in that moment and that was why the power was enough to snap Marcus’ neck. But it was still no excuse. He could practically picture Marcus’ mother, forming in his head a withered face aged finely just as Marcus’ face had. His siblings, probably just as well-mannered and handsome. Marcus didn’t seem the type to have a father, but even an older man with those burning hazel eyes and broad shoulders could be pictured in his mental vision. Oh what had he done? They were probably looking forward to receiving Marcus home in twenty-four hours if it weren’t for him. Now, they were planning a funeral. Arthur bit his lip, drawing blood and allowing the anger and guilt to run iron onto his tongue. The taste was satisfying.

 

The door opened, a soldier nodded to his guards. He was lead back into the room, plopped back onto the desk chair and turned to face the Alphas. They all wore the same expressionless face. “Mr. Kirkland.” Came the painfully familiar voice of Brittany. His eyes flicked to her in attention. “The committee here have all decided on the fate of the rest of your time here in the Purge. And we have decided to grant you amnesty for the murder of Marcus McDermott. He is condemned for rape, assault, and violation of his Synner contract, therefor charged with treason of the King’s word. You will be granted the rest of the training time allowed to perform.”

 

His honor was seared by this, the fact Marcus would be treated like some criminal because of his feelings towards him. If only he could’ve listened to Marcus, if only he could’ve controlled his emotions. “There’s only three hours left.” It was an absent complaint, one that came from his knotted emotions.

 

“Then you best make good work of the time you’ve been given.” Her eyes were so serious, so certain. As if she… had faith in him. Arthur swallowed and realized he was in no position to complain. He wasn’t just granted time to still train but time to live. He was granted his life by this woman. Arthur nodded slowly and raised from his seat as the soldiers uncuffed him.

 

Politely, he bowed and searched each face with his eyes until landing on Brittany’s, “Thank you. To everyone here. I am honored that you have given me a second chance and I will not abuse such an offer.” They nodded in return and he exited the room calmly.

 

~0~

 

The glass door closed snugly behind him and the instructor to the right pretended not to sneak glances of blame to him as he typed on his little laptop. Arthur didn’t mind the blame. He was glad that at least the instructor knew the truth, that Marcus was a good man and that he was just a murderer. For the past few hours as he trained vigorously he thought of all the possible ways the previous meeting could’ve gone. There was so much evidence against him, the footage itself should have condemned him to execution. And yet, here he was, glistening in sweat with Marcus’ blood on his hands and a memory to haunt him till death. But he suppose this was suppose to teach him a lesson. There was no way that he would make it to the top three. Even though the scoreboards had been turned off for the last day of training, he knew that he wasn’t even close to the top. He had murdered a Synner. Even if it was in self-defense that was a massive penalty. And even though he had been training viciously and scoring high in the seminars, with only thirty minutes left before the final announcement there was no way he would make it to the top.

 

The rest of the Synners were doing the same as him; juicing out their last scores until the very end. But they’d been doing so all day and several had given up already, panting and guzzling down water on the rest areas. In the center, near the platforms, Haggus and the monstrosity of his being was being applauded by his fellow Synners. But Haggus knew just as well as Arthur that they were just sucking up to get a possible spot next to the beast. He would be a fantastic opponent in the Purge, may even win the title for England. Arthur mulled over this for only a second and then wiped the sweat from his face to train in a different room. The only room which was open was at the far end of the training grounds, which he thought unfortunate. As he passed the platforms, the grovelling of the lower Synners halted in order to stare at him and whisper in each other’s ears. Arthur was done with this. Done with the added on guilt, of being ostracized for being small, for being an Omega, for being not as perfect as everything else. He deserved the blame, the punishment of what he’d done but at the same time with such emotions racking up and such hopelessness surrounding him, his temper snapped. “Do you have something to say to me?” He growled sharply, pausing and not even granting them the blessing of his gaze. They folded their arms smugly. “If you have something to say, I’d recommend you say it and not mar that Alpha stigma you so eagerly try to boast.” He finally turned and struck them right through with his stare. His temper--or lack of it--was growing.

 

“At least I don’t stab my friends in the back.” Arthur kept a straight face, his emotions run dry but his restraint far from. The Alpha who had spoken was the closest to Haggus who seemed to not be paying attention, wiping some blood from his knuckles. Probably from beating the crap out of someone earlier. Even though the comment stung, Arthur smirked sadistically, wanting to milk this reputation he’d formed because he had nothing better to go off of at this point.

 

“Please. I didn’t need a knife to kill him. Just my bare hands.” He held up his hands to prove his point and the grovelers shifted uncomfortably. “Or would you like me to prove that point again?”

 

“I would.” Came the deep baritone of Haggus. “If you want to boast so much of killing your fellow Englishman--which is a violation of your contract might I add--why don’t you go ahead and face me in a rematch and I can kick your ass all over again.”

 

“Gladly.” He had spoken without a single thought. Even Arthur was surprised how fast he’d thrown down his sweat-soaked towel and taken off his shoes. It was like his mind and body were working on their own. Perhaps it was because he wanted the punishment of a broken face, that his honor had been so dashed, so soiled with this damn Purge that he was practically begging to be physically done in. At least so that he’d match the pain he felt on the inside. “Well? Are you going to just stay there and keep admiring your fingernails like a schoolgirl or are you going to fight me?” Every single one of their brows shot up from his words and the grovellers grinned, making way for Haggus up to the platform. Arthur pulled himself up as well after wrapping his fists. In seconds there was a crowd.

 

Haggus rolled his neck around his shoulders, and even on the opposite side of the mat Arthur could hear the crackling. Arthur wanted to fight. He knew he wasn’t going to win but damn would he try. Perhaps if he won against this beast of a man he’d be able to make up some part of Marcus’ wishes. He’d never even gotten last words from what he’d done to him. Arthur could only assume this was what Marcus wanted, and he was too pissed to think otherwise. Just as before, it started before Arthur could even measure the beats of his heart. But this time, Arthur was familiar with Haggus’ left hook, ducking low beneath the man’s arm and practically dancing to the side of the platform. His face was expressionless. “If you’re going to fight me, fight me, this isn’t a dancing match, twinkle-toes.” Haggus growled deeply. And he was right. Arthur stretched out his hand and waved for Haggus to charge him again. He gratefully obliged. Within seconds, Arthur was pinned, Haggus’ colossal hands pressing down on his throat, choking the air out of him. Before he began seeing speckled light upon his vision, he thought he could see Marcus’ face. Yes. Marcus was ontop of him. It was his normally gentle hands around his neck, his breath against his ear. Arthur could even hear that annoying phrase he use to whisper in their spars, ‘fight me’. Those were his last words. That was the last thing Marcus McDermott had said before he’d snapped his neck. He remembered exactly how the murder had played out, he remembered exactly how it felt for Marcus to pin him on the mat just hours before his life ended. He remembered every little bit and how the shot of adrenaline caused him to shift and unbalanced Marcus, abling him to pin him to the ground. The handsome man’s eyes were so proud, so damn proud.

 

And now it wasn’t Marcus’ eyes he gazed into. No, the eyes staring at him were of shock and merciful prayer. There was silence in the air. It was Haggus’ eyes he stared into now, but the speckles of his vision were disappearing and the blood began rushing once more to his head. Arthur’s hands were around Haggus’ throat… he was pinning the man to the mat. Just as he’d done to Marcus. How had this happened? How had he been able to so simply flip the odds of this beast? He had daydreamed for just a second and his body had taken over.

 

Then came the sound of applause. It was slow at first, but soon the Synners around them were screaming with excitement. Egging Haggus on and taking more bets on Arthur. Haggus bared his teeth and attempted to swing an elbow into Arthur’s skull, but he was too fast. Before the bone connected, Arthur stole the motion of the man’s wrist and twisted it against his body.

 

He had immobilized Haggus. The beast struggled beneath him kicking and trying to get up, but Arthur’s body was so tiny in comparison that the legs couldn’t even reach. Arthur kept him locked in place. It was not his weight that kept the man down, but the position Arthur forced Haggus’ body in. The crowd was going wild. It was only when the instructor viewing the spectacle blew the whistle that Arthur let up off of Haggus, leaving the panting man to remain on the mat, questioning how such a miracle had happened. And Arthur pondered the same. No. He knew. Marcus was with him. He’d been there, he was the one who had sent that vision to him, who had given him the energy. It was Marcus that allowed him to defeat the beast.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Came the sharp snarl of Fritz. The crowd shushed immediately. Arthur turned, realizing he had remained expressionless the entire fight. Must’ve really looked like a killer. “Training period is over gentlemen, I expect you to get off the mat immediately.” Fritz glared at Arthur, not even paying attention to Haggus, as if all of this was Arthur’s fault. Arthur began to take a step towards the edge of the mat but before he could he saw a movement out of the corner of his eyes and the crowd gasp. He flinched instinctively but no contact came. Despite everyone’s expectation of retaliation, Arthur turned to find Haggus on his hands and knees… bowing to Arthur. He didn’t understand. Searching the crowd they were just as bewildered as he was.

 

“I am not a kind man.” Bellowed Haggus, forehead pressed against the mat. “But I know when I’ve been beaten. You deserve top place.” This wasn’t expected. Haggus wasn’t suppose to just give up his spot, this… this was confusing. Arthur just gazed at him, unable to wipe the shock from his face.

 

“Yes, well.” Came the accented voice of Fritz, the older man cleared his throat, “seeing as the spar had ended after 6:00pm of the last day of the pre-purge training level, I’m afraid the match win will not count for either of you. Now get off the platform and take your seats, gentlemen.” That was when Haggus stood, his mighty form towering over Fritz from atop the platform.

 

“I forfeit.” What? What was Haggus doing? Arthur gawked at him, not knowing what to do. “I will not be given something I do not deserve. And the lot of you Synners should recognize that as much as I do.” But nothing has been said, nothing is providing information that Haggus would win other than the obvious. Arthur was so confused, so bewildered and shocked that he nearly fell off the platform if it wasn’t for the guard rail. There were murmurs, chirps, a shallow chanting of voices Arthur couldn’t register until they were practically shouting the blonde’s name. Haggus gazed at Arthur admiringly, something he’d never think to find on the beast’s face. But there it was, and then his lips began moving and Haggus too joined the chanting. Arthur stood there, atop the platform, his eyes wide and surrounded by an admiring crowd that just moments before thought him lower than dirt.

 

“You can’t forfeit, Mr. Crowley. You are bound by your contract that you are either chosen or not chosen whether you like it or not.”

 

“You choose me. And I will be sure to embarrass the whole of England and his majesty in front of the world.” Haggus snarled without hesitation. Fritz swallowed.

 

“Get off the platform, gentlemen.” Arthur gazed up at Haggus and nodded to him, slipping off the platform and into the crowd which cleared the way for him. His shoulder and back must’ve been patted more than twenty times. Haggus followed almost protectively behind Arthur. They took a seat as did everyone else. Fritz raised himself onto the platform, his tablet in hand and soldiers filing to either side. Out of the right doors, Brittany walked to the platform as well as the brunette-haired woman and the rest of the council, heels clicking on the concrete floor. The crowd hummed in admiration to Brittany’s appearance, though Arthur didn’t understand this. She was too familiar. Too damn familiar.

 

Fritz was handed a microphone and he tested the head, tapping a finger and the act pounded against the speakers. “Welcome.” Fritz began. The crowd was silent. “You have trained long and hard, and we have all been through a lot these past few days. But it has all been for something, I assure you. For today, I will announce who will be representing our great, magnificent country and his majesty.” Still silence. No applause, no nothing. Fritz cleared his throat awkwardly. “I will release the results on the board behind me and the top three will come up on the platform, then I will hand the microphone off to Brittany.” A cricket chirped in the background. Fritz waited just a moment before pressing his stubby finger upon the surface of the tablet, causing a beep of recognition and the board behind him to light up with names. There were three spots at the top marked in green and the rest in red. His name was not one of the green, and it sat fifteen places down from said color. The crowd roared at this. “Quiet down! Quiet down now!” Fritz snarled, but his word meant nothing. Then the microphone was swiped from his hand and it was Brittany on stage.

 

“Silence.” Her voice snapped everyone into obedience immediately. Even Haggus swallowed. “These are the statistics of each of you Synners but as said before the final result will be decided by me.” Her voice was the one on the intercom, but Arthur knew there was something else. Some deeper recognition. “May the green names stand up and come to the platform.” No one raised at first, but under the weight of Brittany’s eyes, Haggus and two other Synners raised slowly, edging up onto the platform beside her. Their eyes were glued to the ground. “Haggus Crowley. Michael Sturm. Kimberly Johnson. You are the three most elite of the Synners, and your training has proven as such. I will state the winner of the performance level as well as the representative of England.” She paused, and then read off on a sheet of paper, “because of this Synner’s strong-will and nature of never giving up. Of their strength, tenacity and persistent nature as well as the relationship with their fellow peers, I announce the winner to be--”

 

“Wait!” Brittany blinked behind her as Haggus came up. “Before you say the winner, might I give a few words?” She bemusedly nodded.

 

“It is not of custom, but I suppose it will do no harm. Go ahead.” She handed the microphone to Haggus who cleared his throat and pressed it to his lips.

 

“Before Ms. Brittany states the name, I would like to relinquish my spot. I deny any partnership with the Purge and I will not accept the spot given. We all know who deserves this spot, so that is why I resign.” The crowd murmured underneath the platform as Haggus jumped off after handing the microphone back to Brittany. She blinked, calmly speaking into the microphone.

 

“That isn’t exactly on contract and what you say is invalid Mr. Crowley. So as I was saying--”

 

“I resign my name too.” Brittany snapped her head to the Alpha that approached her. “I refuse to be the representative of this country as I do not deserve it.” Michael jumped off the stage.

 

“I deny my name from the Purge list as well.” Came the voice of Kimberly. She followed Michael. Arthur just watched. Each and every name going down the list stood in order from the crowd and resigned their name from the Purge. All the way up to the fourteenth Synner.

 

“I resign my name to the one that deserves it. To Arthur Kirkland.” It was the Synner from before, the one who had called him a back-stabber. There was a push on his shoulder and suddenly he was forced to the platform gently by his fellow Englishmen. Brittany’s face was tense as she gazed down at Arthur, then cleared her throat.

 

“This is unfortunately an invalid act. All of this is against your contracts and there will be punishments. Now, I will ignore this and continue as I was saying..” There was a snarling roar, fists in the air and the scent of angry Alphas weighing Arthur down. He refused to get on stage yet the hands kept pushing for him to do so. “AS I WAS SAYING!” The crowd silenced immediately. Eyes watching Arthur, eyes watching Brittany, eyes watching and searching and ears listening. Arthur could hear his heart beating furiously. Brittany continued, “For this Synner’s strong-will and nature of never giving up. Of their strength, tenacity and persistent nature as well as the relationship with their fellow peers, I announce the winner to be..” A beat. A second. Arthur and the crowd held their breaths.

 

“Arthur Kirkland.”

  
  
  



	6. Friend or Foe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur gets ready for the Champion's Ceremony and meets an unlikely group of allies.. or perhaps enemies?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long guys! Finally finished with finals so the waits between updates shouldn't be 'too' long now.

Arthur was allowed three things. One present from his family at home, one phone call to a number of his choice, and one night to himself. The present was one of the most favorable of the three, as anything could be sent to Arthur and he would be allowed to take it in the arena. Many families sent past Synners knives, ammo, or a survival manual. So Arthur was more than a little surprised when he received a box containing a metal flask with fine bourbon. Arthur was not at all a sober gentleman, for he enjoyed a drink as much as the next man. But seeing as his family was loaded with weaponry, such a gift was a little, well, disappointing.

 

He turned the flask gently in his hand, the metal was cold from shipping and embellished with a fancy ‘K’ which he assumed stood for his surname. How instrumental. Arthur continued studying the flask, his thumb ghosted over the bottom edge. The ridge was only slight, but he knew better than to allow it to go unattended. Scratching at the ridge, he was able to hook a finger nail in it and pull gently, the bottom of the flask popping off with elite compression. Arthur marvelled at the hidden compartment of the flask, as well as the tiny indentations of pill-holders carved within the cap. This was a way to hide his pills, a way to take his suppressants into the arena through other means than a baggy.

 

What a fantastic gift.

 

As he marvelled the flask above him, laying on his bed, he allowed his mind to wonder about the past few hours. Just sixty minutes ago all denied Synners were evacuated from the building and allowed to give their best wishes to Arthur. They all had only the fondest things to say. Even so, it was a little odd to think that the original winner was actually him. That even if all of those people hadn’t resigned their names, he’d still be the representative of England. It didn’t make since, only leading him to believe that it was completely rigged. But just who was behind the scene pulling the strings? Who was responsible for him being chosen?

 

And what would become of him in the actual Purge if this was the case? He had been given everything up to the point of entry and he doubted even Jett’s affiliates reached the high council. England was one thing, but the world was a whole nother. He couldn’t possibly control everything. There was a knock at the door and he was quick to his feet, relaxing only once he remembered he had no reason to be paranoid. He was on a free ride from here on out. Opening the door, Arthur searched around to fight the person responsible for the knock, but was at a loss. On the ground however, sat a manilla card in golden calligraphy. Arthur grumbled something under his breath about them needing to understand his illiteracy but decided to pick it up anyways.

 

Studying the words with his fingers he registered only the numbers--as per usual. 7:00am and 12:00pm. What happened at those times was a mystery to him but he just shrugged and placed it on the dresser, fingers lingering on the fine paper. He should thank Jett for the present, he thought of apologizing for the day before or even groveling for his forgiveness. These were common thoughts amongst Arthur’s mind, and exhaled slowly. Those weren’t the only thoughts on his mind. In two minutes, he threw on a hoodie and made his way down to make the phone call.

 

“Hello?” Came a strong, feminine voice. Arthur inhaled sharply.

 

“Hello. Is this the McDermott household?”

 

“It is. May I ask who’s calling?” He took in a deep breath.

 

“Arthur Kirkland.”

 

Silence. There was a shaky breath on the other line before the young woman exhaled sharply. “Why are you calling?”

 

“I needed to make ammends.”

 

“You have no reason to. You were in the right. My brother is a traitor.” They were rehearsed lines, words that were watched carefully. He knew this, but he refused to accept it.

 

“Are you his sister?” Another shaky hesitation.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then you should know better than anyone that he would never do that.” There was a chokin sound on the other line, a sob.

 

“Why are you calling us? Why won’t you just let us mourn?” There was another voice on the line but it was difficult to make out. “No, mom, please, you don’t have to--”

 

“Hello, who is this?” It was Arthur’s time to inhale sharply.

 

“Arthur.”

 

“Arthur Kirkland? How could you have done that to my boy. My baby boy. He was such a good young man and could’ve started a family and you, you killed him! You should be ashamed of yourself, how can you live with my baby boy’s blood on your hands!”

 

“Mom, you saw the footage, Marcus tried to rape him.” Came the younger voice faintly.

 

“Don’t trust everything you see on the tellie, you know he wouldn’t do that.”

 

“You’re right.” Arthur suddenly said. The line went silent. “Marcus was a good man. A good friend of mine. I will always remember how much he’s helped me, how much he’s done for me. How… how horrible I am to have ended such a good man’s life. But you must understand, Ms. McDermott, I am well aware that I do not deserve this place. That I do not deserve to be treated as a victim and especially not a champion. Before the Purge begins, I want to make sure your family is well aware that I will never be able to forgive myself, and I will be fighting for more than myself or my family.. but for yours as well. I’d like to donate 50% of any earnings I may win to your family. I know it won’t replace your son’s life… but it’s all I’ve got to give.”

 

There was silence on the other end but Arthur could hear her mind mulling over everything. “You don’t know if you’ll win. You might be killed within the first few minutes of day one.”

 

“I know that. But like I said… it’s all I’ve got to offer.” More silent thoughts.

 

Then the questions came. “Why did you do it?”

 

His answer was slow, and he was choosing his words very carefully, “I wish I had a different excuse than ‘I had my reasons’ ma’am. But I don’t. All I have to say was that I never wanted to kill him, I never expected to kill him that night and never had any intent to do so. It was an accident, but that is no excuse for the ending of his life. I am so… so sorry for your loss ma’am. And I hope that by the end of this week… you’ll understand why I did it.”

 

“You seem like a nice boy, Arthur. It’s an awful shame you’re a killer.”

 

With that, he couldn’t muster up a response besides a prompt goodbye and the hanging up of the phone. When he first looked up the numbers, when he first dialed the code into the phone, and when he decided he would call the McDermott family instead of Jett… he hadn’t known what he was thinking. Or why he did it for that matter. But as he stood there now, his hand shivering slightly and his eyes zoned into the wall like it was the gateway to some hidden realm, he felt right. He’d done something good for once, something in Marcus’ favor. And perhaps he will win. Perhaps Jett’s contacts would get him there… or maybe he himself would. Arthur inhaled deeply through his nose and head back up to his room.

 

~0~

 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

 

He was so warm, but not in an uncomfortable manor. It was the kind of warmth a baby feels when being held by their parents, the warmth a child feels when pressed against their mother’s chest, the warmth of safety underneath a blanket when you’re scared of the dark. This was that warmth. Some would call it a reaction to an impending doom, a warning that danger was approaching. It was a way your mind prepared your body for the worst, granting you euphoria before you endured hell. Soldiers would often describe it this way, and say how before being sent off to war, the nights would be the best sleep of their life. Arthur supposed it was this that he felt when he woke to the knocking.

 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

 

Arthur groaned as he instinctively lurched from the bed and opened the door. Brittany’s face lowered upon his. He suddenly felt insecure. “Good morning, Mr. Kirkland. Apologies for waking you this evening but apparently you did not get my message..” Arthur blinked the sleep from his eyes and searched the clock on the dresser. It was 7:16. “Now I realize as a champion you are given privileges over the average man, but do not think that you are higher than my expectations.” Arthur wondered at first if Brittany got out ever or if she has always been such a stick-in-the-mud, but nonetheless he straightened himself to look more presentable.

 

“N-no, of course not, Ms. Wilson. My greatest apologies.”

 

“Did you receive my letter?”

 

“I certainly have, ma’am but--”

 

“Then you have no excuse as to why you weren’t down in the lobby by 7:00 on the dot.”

 

“Well you see I… I’m sorry. You’re right. Lead the way.” Even if he had been able to read where to meet, there was no excuse on the lack of punctuality. He was the champion of England, Arthur needed to start acting like it. Brittany nodded and ordered him to follow, escorted by the guards on either sides of her. As he stuck close by, he admired the fact that even in an age of around 50 she still maintained such a youthful, dominant gate and could snap any ‘whippersnapper’ into obedience with just a word. While it was fantastic in every aspect, it was also quite terrifying at the same time. For just a second he wondered if she was bonded or not, but decided it would be best to abandon the topic.

 

Her heels clicked like tiny bombshells on the tile once they reached the lobby, and once again he was taken to the white hallway of identical rooms. Turning left into one of them, he was hit with a scent he hadn’t smelled since leaving home. The scent of his own kind. Four Omegas stood in a row, nervous, obedient, and admiring of England’s Champion. Arthur swallowed as he noticed a mirror in the back with a chair and lights and makeup and a clothing station to the right. “As said on the card, Mr. Kirkland, you will be dressed and ready for the champion’s ceremony that will be at 12. I will receive you around 11 and we will continue on to the ceremony. I’ll leave you to it then.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.” The reply was immediate, the stubbornness from before dying in his throat as she disappeared from the room, the dominant atmosphere trailing after her. A minute didn’t even pass by before he was grabbed by the Omegas and guided to the mirror, sat down on a chair and messed with all over. His bangs were flipped over again and again away from his eyes, his chin was pinched and rotated, his body was felt up uncomfortably yet professionally. He understood this was their job but he only prayed they wouldn’t figure out that they were of the same breed. But they didn’t seem to clue in. Perhaps too distracted or perhaps part of the cause, Arthur couldn’t tell anymore.

 

His skin around his cheekbones was suddenly brushed with a foul powder, a cloud of putrid cosmetics that he falsely attempted to not breath in. Coughing was the only indicator they were doing their job right. They turned him away from the mirror to restrain any objection of what they were doing to his face, not like he could see through the cosmetic mist. His hair was wrenched from his skull by brushes and combs, there was trimming and a primping he’d never felt before. Just as he was about to protest about such rough treatment, the primping stopped and he was pulled to his feet, denied a glance at the mirror.

 

Taken to the clothing station, he wasn’t even allowed retaliation as the Omegas pulled down his sweat pants and flipped off his hoodie. His surprised shout and snarling was easily ignored by the cosmetics crew as he was then bound into some foreign type of fabric. There was a zipper, a button, something furry around his neck. When they were done, they immediately stepped out of range of Arthur’s swatting. But they had smiles on their faces. Blushing smiles. When Arthur turned to the mirror, the man did not at all look like Arthur.

 

It wasn’t some scrawny, timid, boney kid staring back at him, but a bright-eyed young man. Arthur marvelled at his own face, feeling his jaw to make sure it was real, that the reflection was really him. His hair was combed upwards like the winds of northern knolls had been blowing through his locks for days, similar to many models he’d seen on advertisement. His eyes were greener and brighter than normal, complemented by the shading and highlighting of make up around his cheek bones. Any scars or blemishes on his face were gone from sight, covered by the cosmetic surgery he’d endured. And if his face wasn’t enough, his attire would be sure to turn an eye. He couldn’t tell whether the outfit was suppose to resemble a lion or a soldiers, for both were intertwined. And if it was a soldier, he was concern for that soldier’s well being as his chest was quite agape, his cross necklace hanging shamelessly between porcelain collarbones. Arthur turned around slowly, eyes never leaving the mirror. On the back, what seemed like a lion’s mane traveled down to his sides where the uniform conformed his ass perfectly within the folds.

 

Arthur swallowed and prayed his older brothers wouldn’t be watching the telly. If so he would never hear the end of it, but then again, there was a very good chance he’d never have to. Suddenly the door opened behind him and Brittany was absently gazing down at the watch on her wrist as she entered, her posse of soldiers following at her heels. What felt like just a few minutes had actually been a few hours, and he pondered if there was some kind of time wharp in this room. But his thoughts were fumbled when Brittany began speaking, “Alright, we need to make this snappy, the float is being prepared as we speak and we shall not keep them waiti--” The Alphas was forced to give a once-over, scanning his body almost hungrily, he shifted under her strong, alluring gaze. “My, my… the cosmetics crew did a number on you..” Arthur nodded, eyes dismissed to the corner of the room. She approached him carefully, pinching his chin and examining his face, his eyes only glancing briefly at her’s before returning to the spot on the wall.

 

“D-does my appearance satisfy you, ma’am?” He realized as he said it, when her eyes dilated in the display of submission, that it was out of character. Arthur assumed she’d be use to this kind of treatment, this display of her being more powerful than those beneath her as she reeked of Alpha, but she seemed to lick her lips instead. As if this was a rarity that she wanted to remember. Arthur closed his eyes and he released him almost roughly.

 

“I will not be the one you will have to satisfy, Mr. Kirkland. England will be. The people of this great nation you will have to ‘satisfy’ and speaking of which, we must be leaving to the float now.” As if the moment had never happened her eyes resumed to her watch and her fingers snapped into the air to heal Arthur to her side. And who was he to deny the order?

 

As they walked out the metal, air-locked doors to the compression room where more than a hundred Synner had once prepared for death, he couldn’t help but remember his first steps. He had a long way to go, but in all fairness he’d come a long way at the same time. He’d seen so much, he’d met so many people… he’d done so many things. “Keep up, Mr. Kirkland.” Her voice knocked him from his pensive thoughts and he quickened his pace to practically step on her heels. She growled in warning of the closeness. He slowed the pace. More and more soldiers began lining the halls and it more seemed as if they were at some military base than at the Purge headquarters. When the second line of air-locked doors decompressed, there was a massive red, white and blue flag dressed upon the side of a towering sculpture. There was a giant sculpture of King Danik painted in gold on the top standing several yards high with a glowering, royal face. A country’s worth of flowers painted his long robes and around the float, the dominating color being red which he assumed was suppose to simulate blood. Of course, the king had “ended” the war, so he stood towering a top the bloodshed of pansies. Arthur said something low under his breath as they walked him to the latter to get up on the float. As he reached the top, he noticed that there was a tiny, miniature platform leading to the pace of the giant, kingly sculpture where a throne was built into his base. It was just as articulate as the rest of the piece, and he was just a mere mouse in comparison to its greatness. “There. You look like you practically belonged up there.” Brittany said nonchalantly, as if it was suppose to convince him. “You’ve seen a parade before, right?” She asked, finally looking up from the tablet she’d been tapping into on her arm.

 

“Well. Yes… once. When I was little. And then sometimes on the telly..”

 

“Good, then you remember whenever the queen participated in the parade, correct? Just wave like that.”

 

“I remember vaguely… and by vaguely not really..” She sent him a face of ‘are you serious’ and then resembled the ‘queen’s wave’, cupping her hand turning it slowly, mocking a sarcastic grin to resemble what he was suppose to do. He gave her a nod with all the suppressed attitude he could manage. She didn’t notice.

 

Suddenly, the float moved a bit, vibrated beneath his feet and he quickly took his seat in the chair. The throne was cheap with paper-mache and calloused in metal. Arthur noted this and made careful not to accidentally cut himself in the parade.

 

The champion’s ceremony was a parade broadcasted throughout the world. The selected champion of each nation was given a float that described their country, a unique ensemble of traits, characteristics, and cultural symbols that competed to be the most flashy in the world--though there was no competition. And though not competed with, the ‘winner’ bore a great honor upon their country and was a fantastic source of entertainment for children watching on the tellies and on the grounds. The truth of the ceremony was growing ever more apparent with the opening of the building’s massive door, rattling its way to fold into the ceiling. Arthur could hear a vague whispering outside, no, something more consistent, more loud if it were to be approached. This was the ceremony, this was the crowd gathered from all over the world sitting in that wide expanse of knolls that had intimidated her on the train.

 

As Brittany waved her goodbyes and promised a later reunion, the float ached out onto the gravel road where the yellow-dried grass was cut off by a dark crowd line on the horizon with music and colors. It was a line of floats ahead of him at the front of the parade, and as was custom, the hosting country’s float kept to the rear. A ‘save the best for last’ move that was established in the beginnings of the tradition. When they reached where the crowd grew thick, he was astounded by the excited faces of families from all over the world. He was their champion, their victor-to-be. In this small little world of celebration, he was their hero dressed in gold, the one to bring them glory. In this world, his crimes had no effect on the people, what they’d seen on tv was merely forgotten. Masked by his makeup, his glorious clothes, his perfected complexion. He had turned from Arthur Kirkland to some media star one they had seen on a tellie. In this world.. he was a celebrity. Arthur, the shock fading, stood slowly making the crowd go wild. Remembering what Brittany had shown him, he cupped his fingers together and waved slowly, trying to picture the queen in mind--which required putting himself in an odd dress which he wasn’t too fond of. The long, loud, line of people, the sea of heads and noise and flags stretching as far as the eye could see only ended once he felt like he belonged up there. It must’ve taken hours upon hours to go through the line, but to him it merely felt like seconds. The sun’s rays stopped beating down upon his head and were replaced by a cooling shadow. The crackling of gravel under the float tires turned silent on smoothed concrete floor.

 

They had entered the Purge Headquarters. Where every wall was made of something pristine and expensive, where beyond the door leaving this garage-like building, there would be a resort that could put the level 3 apartments to shame. Where life for the unwealthy and impoverished was warped into a reality unknown to them, unknown to Arthur. There was a soft pat at his pant cuff as he stood on the edge of the float. The pat belonged to one of the HQ employees, waving for Arthur to come down off the float, in which the worker aided him in doing so.

 

There was a humming of busy bodies in the air, the clattering of feet on the floor and the hurrying that was invisible save the aura it gave. Arthur pursed his lips, wondering exactly where he was suppose to go and turned to ask the employee yet found him on the other side of the room already tending to other Synners. As some of the other champions walked passed him he reached out to a dark-skinned woman and landed a hand on her firm bicep. She growled in warning. “Excuse me. Pardon me, ma’am. But do you know where we’re suppose to be heading?” She just stared at him, shrugging her carved shoulder away. her attire strewn with gold and silk.

 

“Ask someone who gives a damn.” Her accent was thick of Western-African influence, and her black eyes lay coldly upon his before she turned away from him. He furrowed his brows at the ignorance but his attention was soon turned towards a snickering a few paces away.

 

“So polite. You do realize you will most likely be killing her quite soon? Or the more likely chance of she to you.” The man leaned comfortably against the New Prussian float, his eyes electric blue and vibrant compared to the rest of the grey in the room. His hair fell angelically over his shoulders, nearly as blond as Arthur’s and twice as full of product. But the man was in no way an eye-sore. He was wearing a blue wrap with a hood that complimented his body perfectly not to mention giving divine contrast with his eyes. His pale skin was like porcelain and Arthur could tell he’s kept up with his hygiene. But this wasn’t of any importance to Arthur as he just squinted in response.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“You don’t know how to impolite, do you? Oh dear me, dear me, you poor little benevolent thing.” His accent was unmistakable and Arthur’s grinded his teeth at the sandpaper words.

 

“Francis, you really should stop toying with your prey. It’s pre-game bad luck.” A white-haired man cooed from a chair beside the float. His accent was nasally like the blond’s but purely of German influence as he concentrated on sharpening his knife.

 

“Oh but what’s the fun in luck if there’s no gambling?” Francis grinned again and the his albino friend glanced up from his knife momentarily.

 

“Well I’ll be damned.” He stood up suddenly and handed his knife to a man lying precariously upon the edge of the float. “Finish sharpening that for me, would you, Tony?” The tan-skinned individual nodded and took the knife feeling over the edge with his fingers before skinning away the surface with the same rock the German had. “Say, Francis. Do you even know who you’re toying with?”

 

“Some poor, ignorant, appearance-blessed Synner?” The white haired man clapped Francis on the shoulder with a wicked grin, his eyes focused on Arthur. Arthur shifted uncomfortably under the blood-stained gaze.

 

“This little lion cub here is Arthur Kirkland. England’s champion.”

 

“And?” Francis seemed bored with this statement.

 

“And he got out of killing another Synner before the games. Must be smart as hell, or wicked as his king. Or maybe both.” Arthur bit the inside of his cheek at how pleased the man sounded with this. Francis looked at his friend doubtfully. What Arthur didn’t expect was for the albino to stride up to him and outreach his hand. This definitely took him off-guard. “The name’s Gilbert. Very impressed with your work.” The man gave a sickening smirk and a wink to display such ‘admiration’. “That was a perfect angle to place your hands at, snapped it nice and clean. Must be one of those Purge-born kids.” Arthur’s eyes remained stuck on Gilbert’s face and he tasted iron from the hole he’d dug on the side of his cheek. He refused to shake the man’s hand, Gilbert didn’t seem to mind. “Say, me and my boys here, we aren’t too fond of making friends with other Synners.. but in your case, I think we can definitely make an exception. Would you be interested in taking up an alliance offer?”

 

“Gilbert..” Francis said almost warningly. Arthur stared incredulously up at Gilbert, contemplating his next words carefully. After what this man had just said, about the incident with Marcus, he wanted to punch him in his egotistical, ghostly face. But at the same time he was receiving this certain vibe of power from the trio. As if they’d been training for the Purge their whole lives, as if they were Purge-born. Purge-born kids were children born into usually wealthy families or families with multiple children and since birth were trained to enter the Purge at the given age. Nearly 60% of champion Synners were Purge-born and Arthur wouldn’t be surprised if these guys were too. What with their marble-carved arms and killer eyes, there wasn’t a bit of fear in them. They would give him a fighting chance…

 

“So what do you say, kitten?” Gilbert cooed. Arthur rolled his lips.

 

“I--”

 

“All Synners. All Synners. Report to area A-33. Area A-33 immediately.” The intercom blared from some invisible speaker in the ceiling. Arthur glanced up to search it out only momentarily before bringing his eyes back down on the fleeing back of Gilbert. The man twisted around while walking back to his friends and shouted through a cupped hand.

 

“I’ll find you after this little meet n’ greet shit is over. We’ll talk then.” Arthur watched as the man hopped up on the side of the float along with the other two and the float ached its way down the massive stretch of Synners and parked floats. He sighed and gradually made his way to the other end as well.

 

Area A-33 ended up being a airlocked hallway with compression doors that hissed as they opened for the crowd. Once they had made it passed there, it was then that he was revealed to yet another foreign feeling; the warmth of sunlight. It was holographic sunlight, for they were simply in a computer room such as the one in the arena and in the training grounds, however, it felt as real as sunlight and blinded him like real sunlight. Yet not in an unappealing way. Arthur shielded his eyes from the artificial sun but couldn’t help peeking a glance up at the sky. He knew it was fake, he knew they were just holographic panels placed on the ceiling, but damn was that sky blue and those clouds puffy as all hell. And damn did it not look like something out of a magazine what with the perfectly green, perfectly mowed grass and palm trees and shrubbery. It looked like some resort in Hawaii or the Caribbean and he notice how the crowd in front of him was dispersing onto blankets stretched across the lawn. He hummed in satisfaction at the blankets’ designs; each matched the flag of a Synner’s country. How aesthetically pleasing. If the scene was taken out of context, it would actually be quite the amusing sight. Everyone was in their costumes still and some were quite gaudy and flashy as they lay on these little flag blankets; it looked like a picnic for the circus. Arthur bit his lip to keep from smiling but his cheeks betrayed him and he crinkled the sides of his eyes as he lay upon his designated blanket. Laying back and stretching his feet out, he grinned to himself in delight at the sunlight now. He had turned into his very costume; a lion basking in the sun. Curling his toes he almost didn’t notice the voice perking up over the crowd.

 

“What are you suppose to be?” Arthur opened one eyes, squinted at the discolored world turned from the sunlight beating down on his eyelids.

 

“Hm?” He groaned, leaning up on his elbows and blinking around. There was a sandy-haired man smiling at him from the side. They were blanket neighbors.

 

“I said what are you suppose to be? A soldier? A grammy? A lion? What?” Arthur hadn’t realized he’d been staring unblinkingly until his eyes felt dry in which he closed them and shook his head.

 

“Uh.. I’m afraid I’m not quite sure myself. I think a lion soldier thing.”

 

“You’re from England right?”

 

“That is correct. And you are from..” Arthur searched the man’s blanket, recognizing the red-white-and blue flag marked out in the stars of the Russian colonies. “... Amerika I take it?”

 

“That is correct too--as well. Yes.” The man grinned and rubbed the back of his head, clearing his throat in the process. Arthur took this time to give the man a once-over, taking in his costume which was quite unique to everyone elses. The man was simply in some kind of brown, canvas suit, a worn leather belt tying it all together to what seemed like a firm torso. Arthur sympathized for him, it was obvious this was some sort of humiliation for the prior nation of power. Since Russia took over, the history of America had yet to continue in recording as it was abolished by the new superpower of the Unspoken War. Since that had only been but twelve years ago, it was no surprise to Arthur that Russia would deny any flashy garments for Amerika’s champion. They were Russia’s property. No more, no less. And according to the Russian texts, Amerika has yet to build any history to which a garment should be made of. Arthur would spare him further humiliation to not ask what he was suppose to be. He looked embarrassingly like a beggar boy. Well, beggar man to be fair. He was quite built for a man put in such humiliating clothes, with a handsome, youthful face and bright blue eyes. Would’ve probably made a good husband to some Omega out there, yet like all these other doomed souls he was stuck here for the remainder of his life. “Hello?” Arthur looked up suddenly to the man waving a hand in his face.

 

“Oh, sorry, did I zone out there for a second?”

 

“Yeah, I can be a little boring at times though so no worries.”

 

“Oh no no, I’m sorry, you’re not, it’s just--”

 

The man snickered and continued waving his hand, “I’m just joking don’t get your knickers in a bunch. I just asked what your name is.”

 

Before Arthur could even part his lips something electric boomed across the ceiling. There was a surge and then the panels blue with the sky flickered into an all too familiar face.

 

King Danik. His grey beard was neatly combed into his neck, brown eyes aged and yet undoubtedly cruel, and liver spots that should mark old age if it weren’t for his perfect health. The man was always an enemy of Arthur’s, his image always spat on as a tradition by his family. And yet now, here he sat as the King’s champion. How the fates enjoy comedy. The noble stared at the Synners and the Synners stared at the King, waiting on the edge of their blankets for his royal words. “Synners, champions of the world. I welcome you humbly to my country and wish you to have your last stay on this earth as comfortable as you see fit. Our staff will be waiting on you hand and foot and will make sure anything you’d like will be yours. As is former tradition, there are no exercise rooms or training rooms or any kind of health facility in A-33. For those who do not know this is to make sure the odds are fair and everyone is set on the same level. That said, there are parks and recreational activities for you to spend your time enjoying, a beach, several pools, lavishing suites, golf courses, and a 200 meter ocean that you are free to enjoy. Tomorrow will mark Sunday, the start of the week of sins and therefore the start of the Purge. As is custom, the day’s theme will be revealed in the arena and is exclusive until then. Now to bring it to a more serious tone, Synners. You should be very proud of yourselves that you’ve gotten this far. And your families certainly are as well. You are the champions of your country and the champions of the world and you will bring each of your countries great honor. As for my champion,” Arthur’s eyes flickered with a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and hate all writhing together in his gaze. “you are my pride, your country’s pride, your family’s pride, and your own pride. We all wish you good luck, as the rest of you as well. And have a fantastic week of sins. May the fates smile upon you.” The music playing on his every word faded as did the king’s picture, and then it was just blue sky again.

 

The field hummed with the moving of bodies as people began wrapping up their blankets and finding keys in corner pockets of the fabric. Arthur found his as well on the corner of his blanket. “Man that must be pretty embarrassing.” He glanced over at the Amerikan quizzically. Unfortunately for Arthur, he continued, “it’s like your father who’s a teacher giving a speech to you but in front of your entire school. At least I think that’s the proper analogy…”

 

“Well I wouldn’t know.” Arthur said dismissively, beginning to roll up his blanket.

 

“Oh. Oh do you not have a father? I’m sorry…”

 

“No, I just never went to school. Family couldn’t afford it.”

 

“Oh. Well then I’m sorry for that too.” This guys was giving him a headache as Arthur rubbed his temple to keep his temper in check. “So anyways, never got your name before.” He couldn’t help snapping a glare to the man in his foolery until a voice crashed his condescending affect.

 

“Arthur!” Three men came marching over the green hill of blankets, their own blankets under their arms. They looked like a bunch of college boys on spring break how comfortable they were when their fates were about to be sealed forever. He had the odd instinct to run, perhaps because they reminded him exactly of his older brothers with their cocky grins and such. “Found ya’!” Gilbert grinned, punching his arm playfully. The punch felt more than playful and Arthur rubbed his arm.

 

“Sure did..” He said through his teeth as he grinned back at him. “So.. here I am.”

 

“Here you are. So have you thought about our deal?”

 

“What deal?” the Amerikan blinked from his blanket between the two and Gilbert grimaced.

 

“I’m sorry, were we talking to you? Get lost.” Arthur ignored the man’s sudden pouting frown.

 

“About the alliance? Um… well. I suppose..”

 

“Wait. You’re going to join an alliance with them? You can’t be serious!” The Amerikan scoffed, standing up next to Arthur.

 

“What’s that suppose to mean, potato sack?” Gilbert growled, seeming to puff himself up in dominance.

 

“You would know something about potato sacks wouldn’t you, kraut-guzzler?” the blonde growled in return. Arthur gazed nonchalantly at the two and for a moment was concerned his pills were wearing off due to the two Alphas fighting over him--a common theme when in the presence of an Omega. But not, these two were just at different odds and that was that. Suddenly the Amerikan turned towards Arthur with a pleading look in his eyes. “Arthur right? You can’t seriously take up their offer. I mean c’mon look at them! They already have each other, and they seem pretty damn happy with each other. Who’s gonna be the odd man out? You. Which means that you’re going to be the first to be stabbed in the back. Literally.”

“Oh come on, you can’t seriously believe an Amerikan. An alliance is an alliance. What happens at the end just happens, but we can promise you a spot at the end of the week.”

 

“They can’t promise you anything, Arthur. They’re obviously pulling your leg.”

 

“Oh would you both shut up?!” Arthur finally shouted, his face red with aggravation. The two went silent and he rounded on the blond. “Alright, first off, I don’t know you, sir. I don’t know who you are or even your name or for a better question--why you’re trying to ‘help’ me so--”

 

“Alfred.”

 

“What?”

 

“My name’s Alfred.”

 

“Bloody--Alright! Alfred, fine. Well, Alfred, why the hell would I trust you over them?!”

 

“Because they are very untrustable.”

 

“And you are?!”

 

“I’d say so.” Arthur felt like strangling him, but it seemed Gilbert would do that for him.

 

“Okay, look kitten,” Gilbert growled, eyes glowering down upon Alfred. “It’s not even just the three of us. You could go off and join some other alliance or join this shit-for-brains for all it matters, but no other alliance has what we can offer--a tank.”

 

“A tank?” Arthur and Alfred blurted in unison.

 

“Yep. See that giant over there?” Gilbert pointed through the crowd of Synners to a massive, pale man leaning against a tree, bulging arms crossed. “That there’s my brother. He’s on our side and that is why we can definitely promise you a spot at the end of the week.” Well, if that wasn’t proof, than Arthur didn’t know what was. “I mean, what can this arschloch promise you? Jesus, he’s probably going to get scared and weigh you down cause you’ll have to carry him around the whole time.”

 

“Oh go fuck yourself.”

 

“Gladly.”

 

“Would you two stop?!” Arthur snapped. “For your information I’m not taking anyone’s alliance! Look… I’ll… join your group for tomorrow, and I’ll see if it’ll work. That it doesn’t mean I’m ‘joining’ anything, so don’t get your fucking hopes up. If it doesn’t work out, then we simply go our separate ways. And you.” Arthur turned towards Alfred and poked a finger in his chest. “You need to leave me alone and worry about your bloody self. Understand?” Alfred blinked.

 

“I was only trying to help.”

 

“Well I don’t need your help. Why does everyone think I need their bloody fucking help?! I can take care of my goddamn self and if it weren’t for that tank over there I would be doing just that. Now can you two let me enjoy the rest of my day in peace?!” They both put up their hands instantly and walked away from him slowly, departing in their separate ways as instructed. Arthur gave a genuinely exasperated sigh and began towards the resort for a long awaited nap.


	7. Day 1: Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of the Purge begins with Wrath and it's an all out blood bath. Arthur finds out some very interesting things and some very unlikely friends. But will he survive the first day? Pssht of course he will, he's the main character.

Everything is fuzzy and is of two different visions. There’s a faint siren going off at the back of your mind that makes you question exactly how empty your mind is. Sunlight is the devil. It bathes everything white and refuses to yield until the sirens grow loud and then everything stunningly stops. And the world is set at default once more. Trees are green, clouds are white, the sky is blue, and there are laughing, smiling people all around. Sitting, lying in chairs, tilting their containers of tanning oil and lathering their legs with a substance that would be useless as anything but. Arthur took great amusement to this. In less that twenty four hours, these men and women would be slaughtered by the dozens, but at least they’d look “TV acceptable” doing it. Perhaps it was a ritual, a run through of their everyday life that they forced themselves to repeat in their minds until their future was blocked out. Until the inevitable fate was invisible. But was he so ignorant to believe he was doing the same thing? Sure, he admired those who tried to cheat the calm before the storm, those who played sports every second they could to get in some last straining exercise. There was pros and cons to doing so but neither interested him. Like all these other people, he wanted this period of life to be enjoyed, to be thanked, and to be lived.

 

Of course the water was at perfect temperature. The steam making the hair on his legs bubble as he dipped into the hot tub. At first his body tensed at the unfamiliar temperature, but it was without saying his muscles relaxed a few seconds in. A computerized bird chirped on the fence, its song orchestrating perfectly so that he could conceive the possibility of its reality. That he was back home in the factory yard with his brothers and cousin playing football. That was the last time he had heard a bird song. He must’ve been twelve then. Just maturing enough to make his brothers keep him in close range but still a kid enough to take part in games. In childhood, everything was equal. In childhood, there was no hierarchy, no caste system, no laws that were any different than the other children. If he had been born different, if he hadn’t the biology he had and didn’t go through puberty and didn’t cause the men and women around him to grow hungry for him… maybe he would be a different person. Maybe he would allow himself to have a friend or would’ve had thousands by now. Maybe he would even have a mate and would be long gone from his family and wouldn’t be here right now, enjoying his last moments in a computer-generated hot tub.

 

His laugh was bitter at the irony of all of it and it had not gone unheard. A presence dipped into the pool beside him, rocking his hips to get adjusted and unconsciously pushing Arthur away at the same time. But the man couldn’t help it, he was completely built of muscle--too much for Arthur’s tastes--and it was hard to imagine the man not struggling to avoid stepping on someone let alone sitting next to them in a hot tub. He was pale, standing around six-two with a strong jaw, stronger cheekbones, and a bulging pecs. The atmosphere around the hot tub immediately went defensive and insecure, the smell of humility wafted into his nose and he fought the instinct to move to the opposite side of the tub or simply get out. The man over him eyed him suspiciously for not doing so. He stayed his ground. There was a long moment of silence before an inconceivably deep baritone pulled his attention upright. “You are quite the little man to be challenging me.” It was difficult to pick out the words through his thick brogue, but Arthur managed.

 

“I was here first. Why should I get out if you just get in? It is made for six people after all.” The stranger shrugged in what Arthur surprisingly found as amusement.

“That is very true. Shame on me for assuming.” Arthur looked up at him, ignoring the peeking eyes around them. He was handsome, bright blue eyes, bright blond hair, and a frustratingly similar complexion to Gilbert. Arthur had already guessed this was the man by the tree from before, but he had never guessed Gilbert’s brother was this massive in person.

 

“You’re an odd Alpha.” He blurted out before thinking, “to apologize to someone besides your own…”

 

“And you are an odd Beta for not bowing down to your superior.”

 

“You are not my superior. You are my equal.” The man flashed a dry expression to Arthur and even he had to crack a grin at the complete difference of image. Here he was, all skinny and pale as snow with barely any muscle on his body, and here this man was with veins popping out of each limb and enough body mass to flip a Spanish bull. Of course they weren’t equal, they were far from, but Arthur always enjoyed a good banter, especially when he had enough confidence to not look down. Perhaps the pills were synchronizing with his system.

 

“I like you. You’re bold as hell, but that amuses me.”

 

“What? Oh. Thank you. Um. Same.” He looked down awkwardly, twiddling his thumbs underneath the surface. “Pardon me, but what is your name?”

 

“Ludwig.”

 

“Ludwig…”

 

“Just Ludwig.”

 

“Ah. Hm. Well my name is Arthur. Arthur Kirkland.” The water sounded as he took his hand up to meet Ludwig’s in a shake. “You’re Gilbert’s older brother correct?”

 

“Younger, but ja.”

 

“Younger?” Arthur gawked in disbelieve, then stuck his eyes back into his skull and turned back to the edge of the hot tub. The water drifted calmly. “You two sure have different genetics..”

 

“Nein. Just different passions.”

 

“Different passions huh? Well what’s yours?”

 

“Body building.” That was a no brainer. “You?”

 

“Me? Will I can’t say I have a passion.”

“Everyone does. You must have some passion? Something you like to do?”

 

“Well. I did like to listen through our old alley fence to our neighbor’s music. It was usually really old, classic music with guitars and drums and bass and such. He tends to listen to a song called “The Yellow Submarine” a lot. By the Beetles I think?”

 

“So music huh? Ja, you seem like the brainy type. Any favorite books?”

 

Arthur blinked. He’d never been asked about his favorite book because no one ever bothered assuming he’d know how to read. He swallowed, “I… can’t read.”

 

Ludwig glanced at him. “So you haven’t heard of any fairy tales from your mother?”

 

“Well… no. Not from my mother.” His mother and father were always helping with the rebellion, and war was never any time for silly stories. But then he remembered something, “but once one of my brothers told me a story of a princess and a glass slipper.”

 

“Cinderella? Ah yes, a classic. The sisters cutting off their feet and a prince covering the steps in pitch so the woman wouldn’t run away. They say that Cinderella was originally an Omega pretending to be a Beta saved by an Alpha, but that’s just interpreting the early civilization into something nonexistent..”

 

Arthur just blinked,” w-well I wasn’t aware of that side of the story… either of those side actually. But very nice to know.” He paused. “You know, Ludwig, you’re not as bad of a chap as I thought you’d be.”

 

“Looks can be deceiving.”

 

Arthur nodded slowly, suddenly being distracted by the pile on the side of the hot tub--which he assumed belonged to Ludwig. There was a room key, some cover up clothes, and a towel on the stack, but also a leather foldable wallet with a picture sticking out. It was just a sliver, but enough for him to find curiosity in the tiny, beautiful, joyful face peeking out. “My apologies for asking but… is that yours?”

 

“The pile? Oh yes. I couldn’t find any open seat..”

 

“No, no. The picture. Is that Omega in it yours?” Arthur took notice of the change in Ludwig’s face, something pained, something suppressed to grip of those strong features.

 

“Ja. Was.” He sensed something wrong but his curiosity allowed the silence to drag on and force Ludwig to become increasingly uncomfortable.

 

“He’s very beautiful. One of the prettiest I’ve seen. Is he a model?” Ludwig laughed at this, but his tone was stained bitterly.

 

“No. No he isn’t a model. Wasn’t.. wasn’t a model. Just a normal Omega.”

 

“Why do you keep saying was? What happened--Uh, if you don’t mind me asking that is..” He watched his broad chest fill and empty with the sigh admitting from relaxed lips.

 

“No, it’s fine… if this is the end of my days what’s the harm in spilling dark secrets, hm?” Ludwig turned, striking the water with his icy blue gaze. “We’ve been bonded for twelve years and have one child; an Alpha entering third grade next fall.” Arthur smiled, encouraging Ludwig to continue. “To put it simple… I was an alcoholic. It’s part of our culture, we drink beer with every meal but my brutter was apparently taking me out on the town a little more often than before. More than a little. Anyways, he told me he would refuse to have sex with me until I sobered up. I got angry and I held a grudge and I refused to give up my drink for him. Well, when I was gone, he went into heat and because of the lack of maintenance on our bond, he found the pain of his heat so unbearable that his Alpha co-worker satisfied him late when the restaurant was closed. I couldn’t blame him… I know that I should’ve but I couldn’t because it was my fault. He can’t help his biology… especially if I’m not there for him. What I could promise was the Alpha’s face needed reconstruction, and I fulfilled at least that.” Arthur gazed at Ludwig softly, as if it was somehow soothing for the giant before him even though he knew it did nothing. What he said was true, when their kind is in heat, there is nothing but a strong bond and the smell of a mate that can deter an Omega from their biological need to reproduce. He remembered that need strongly on the night of Marcus’ murder.. how his flesh was hot and every bit of him ached for more. It had been only a pseudo heat, something more painful and more rough than a natural one, but with all the same desires. Arthur swallowed. This Alpha knew that the Omega had no choice. Ludwig didn’t blame him even though it was his mate that refused sex. He admired this greatly and he smiled, touching Ludwig’s hand softly underneath the water.

 

“You are good for not blaming him.” Ludwig shook his head.

 

“Feliciano needed me and I ran away to go play soldier. He needed me and I wasn’t there. Funny how the past repeats itself..”

 

“You ran away from him?”

 

“I didn’t I… I went to Gilbert when I found out and he told me that the best way to redeem myself would be to win the Purge. Show him that I can be there for him, that I can protect him. The wealth the power… it could be ours, it could protect our family for generations it--it… I… I’ve made a mistake haven’t I?”

 

“A large one, yes. But unfortunately, what’s done is done, and there’s nothing you can do about it now.” Arthur stated slowly, carefully choosing his words. “Feliciano will be watching the TV screen… even now he’s probably seen this conversation. And he’ll be rooting for you during the Purge. Just make sure you win.” He gave a comforting smile as if it was as easy as that, and slid himself from the hot tub. Ludwig’s deep baritone followed him to the chair of Arthur’s things.

 

“Will you be joining our alliance?”

 

“I wasn’t sure before,” Arthur said slowly, searching through the pant pockets for his room key, “but I think I will. You’re not what I expected, and who am I to judge a bunch of unconditioned lobcocks from their covers?” He could hear the breath of a half-done laugh escape Ludwigs nose and he hid a smile as well.

 

Making his way into the resort lobby, he checked the time on his tablet. Around fifteen hours until the Purge began. He inhaled slowly but gasped as he was shoved into and stubbled to catch himself on one of the lobby chairs, “Hey! Watch where you’re go--” When he had swung around to give the bumbling stranger a piece of his mind, he was forced to look up into what he swore was the face of evil. It was youthful with practically no flaws save the massive schnoz between plump cheeks. The stranger was also not at all as plump as his face, even now Arthur could tell there was an extreme mass of muscle underneath the heavy layers of clothing. Why the stranger would wear such layers in a tropical resort setting, Arthur was tempted to question but was far too scared to. The towering figure smiled sweetly, but Arthur received a sickening feeling in his gut that there was nothing sweet about this man.

 

“Zdravstvuyte.” The man bellowed in a pleased manor, but Arthur’s stomach churned at the thick Russian accent. It wasn’t uncommon for anyone to be turned cold by a Russian, they were, after all, the victors of the war and it was not in any way a peaceful victory. The things the nation did to get to their state of power, the atrocities they committed on the battlefield... Arthur knew that this was just a Purge champion that had probably never done anything to that extent, but the judgement had already been passed and he desperately wanted to get out of the lobby before anything worse happened. Yet he stood still. “I believe it was you who was not watching where you walk. So please look up from your device next time, maybe you can avoid such accidents.” There was something threatening hanging on the end of his sentence, something Arthur didn’t dare to challenge.

 

“Brother! Dear brother!” Game another harshly slovik tone. Yet this one was much more feminine and less intimidating than the man before him. “You should not go off alone! None of these imbeciles can be trusted and I shouldn’t have to babysit Ulga! Brother are you listeni-- who is this?” The beautiful young woman wrapped a dainty hand around the man’s arm, an evident scowl disrupting the flawless features of her face.

 

“This is Arthur Kirkland. The Beta who murdered a Synner before he was chosen.” Arthur refrained a wince as her eyes seemed to lighten.

 

“Oh. Is he a threat?” She asked bluntly, her eyes never leaving Arthur’s face. The man smiled widely, speaking as if he was making small talk about the weath.

“Not at all. He doesn’t even see where he’s going. He shall be no threat.” She smiled at this then turned to look over her shoulder, as did the taller man. A woman came bounding through the door, a rack sure to knock anyone off their feet bounding in with her and yet separately. While their attention was strained, Arthur made his escape and hurried to the elevators, releasing his held breath and gasping for air. If there was one thing he knew, it was that no good could come out of those two, especially not the man. But then again, there was something about the woman beside him, the one who was alarmingly beautiful for being an Alpha, that made him cringe in a backwards sort of fear. Arthur forced the feeling away and slipped in his room card to the elevator, watching the doors open and hastily stepping on, praying desperately that that face of evil would disappear from his mind at least for now.

 

~0~

 

_“Arthur? Arthur where are you?!” A voice rang out. So solemn, so familiar, so angry and full of promised wrath. Therefor he stayed hidden, with his knees to his chest and lips quivering and his tiny, bleached hands wrapped tightly to himself. “Arthur Kirkland. Come out at once! You know I can smell you!” He tensed, hiding back a whimper. “Arthur… please. You have to come out.” Suddenly there was a can skidding across the dusty road, and a presence he’d never smelled before. Something awful, something so damn gut wrenchingly awful and yet sweet as well. The scent was electrifying and it sent shockwaves through his body causing a feeling he’d never felt before to come alive. He heard his brother’s voice growl “shit” under his breath, and the unfamiliar scents grew stronger and stronger. There was the sound of a harsh snarl, a snarl that was a promise of death to any provocation. And it did not die. “You two get lost. You know what that smell is. You know what it means. And you know what I can do to those who get near him.”_

_There was a hesitance to the voice, as if testing an electric wire, “You its mate?”_

_“Brother.” The words were spat darkly. It was a final warning._

_“Then maybe you could be my brother too, hmm?” Said another voice. It must’ve been the other strange presence. They both smelled so husky and dirty, but the musk smell made his stomach cramp and his joints ache. There was something inside that yearned for more of that smell, to see that smell, to touch the source of that smell, to taste those strangers and be full. God it hurt, it ached and he groaned in agony, clutching himself tightly and feeling himself growing hotter. There was another enraged snarl and Arthur peaked an eye open to see his brother’s back and the feat of the two strangers. They stunk of something addictive._

_“I’m warning you. Get back or I swear you will not be able to leave.” The two men laughed to themselves. By the volume Arthur could tell they had decreased the distance greatly._

_“How old are you, boy? Fifteen? Sixteen?”_

_“Eighteen. Head Alpha of my family.”_

_“Well you see, I’ve been playing this dominance game for far longer than you have, boy. Now if you run now, we won’t harm you, and we’ll allow your brother to return to you later. It’s a pretty generous offer given the circumstances--”_

_“Go fuck yourself!” He’d never heard his brother like that, he’d never heard his brother snarl like a monster. It was as if he’d gone feral, and at the idea he shuttered. There was a soft moan from one of the strangers and he couldn’t help but whimper in reply._

_“Shit, Matt, I can’t take much more. Let’s just kill him and be done with it!” Arthur’s eyes snapped open and he removed himself from the pile of rubble he’d been hiding in, his oddly large sneakers causing him to stumble. The three looked at him and the stranger’s eyes turned hungry. His brother gazed down at him horrified._

_“Arthur. You shouldn’t have come out! Get back in the rubble!”_

_“No, Allister. I can’t let them kill you. It’s okay, I’ll just meet you back home.” his brother gave a warning snarl, attempting to position his body between Arthur’s stumbling form and the two men. “Besides… they smell so good…”_

_“You like my smell, eh? Well I like yours too. Arthur is it?” The Alpha said softly, he whimpered at the tone._

_“Shut up! Don’t you dare talk to him!”_

_“My name’s Jebb. This here’s Richard. You probably hurt a lot right now don’t you? Well we can make that pain go away. We can make you feel real good.”_

_“Arthur don’t!”_

_Arthur wanted these two so badly. He wanted to feel the sweat on their chests, hear their breath on his ear, taste the bulge within their pants. And it was a massive bulge, one that made his knees tremble as he felt himself grow wet inside._

_“Come with me, little Omega child. Let’s go take care of y--HCkh!” Before Arthur realized what happened, the man named Jebb fell to his knees and then on his face, a pool of red gathering beneath his stomach. Allister twirled the knife in his hand, shaking the blood off and then smearing the remaining blood on his pants._

_“I warned you, bastard. I’m the head Alpha. If you want my brother, you have to go through me.” Arthur could see Richard weighing the worth behind his actions, even with Arthur’s scent clouding his mind. The man turned and began to ran full force, but to Arthur’s surprise, Allister didn’t allow him to make it back into the alleyway they’d slithered from. The man was dead before he hit the ground, the knife lodge deep between his shoulder blades. Allister retrieved the knife promptly, wiping off the blood and putting it back in his pocket. He looked up at his brother as Allister approached but only got a glimpse of his burning eyes before the inside of his brother’s boot slammed into his chin. He remained on the ground._

_“I didn’t.. I didn’t want you to be killed.” He whimpered out. Allister spat beside him._

_“Well obviously that wasn’t going to be an issue. You made things a hell of a lot more difficult for me. Never. Never protect an Alpha. You understand? We’re meant to protect you. You here? You’re an Omega. Learn your fucking place.” With that, he threw Arthur back to the ground. “Now come on, we need to get home.” He remained on the ground as Allister began towards their house. “I don’t hear walking. Get your ass up now or else.”_

_That was the day he knew he would never be the kid that would play soccer in the junkyard with his brothers. The kid that was in all way equal to his brothers in every way save age and held all rights a child could. That was the day Arthur learned what it meant to be an Omega, to feel the aching need in his belly and see dominance displays first hand. That was the day his life became nothing more than a tool to be fucked and used._

 

~0~

 

The soft beeping of his alarm clock stabbed his ear in growing volume. Snapping his eyes awake, he groaned and rubbed them sorely, finding the remaining bits of his dream stiff in his pants. He groaned and shifted to the edge of the bed to relieve himself before slipping on a soft pair of sweats and going for a quick jog around the building. When he got back, there was only a few hours before the Purge would begin and mainly everyone who hadn’t decided to sleep in was up and about, squeezing in last minute exercises just like he had. An hour before they were gathered together by the staff and guided to a door on the side of a grass hill that exited the simulation room. “Arthur!” Gilbert’s voice sprang from the crowd. There was a few gasps and several grunts of agitation until the albino made his way to Arthur. Grinning shamelessly, he shaked Arthur’s hand and continue, “My brother filled me in! Great to hear you’ll be joining our alliance! They’re taking us to the holding platforms before the game, make sure you’re on the platform next to us or else we’ll get split up. I’ll inform you of the plan once we do so--shit it’s stuffed in here! Alright, see you soon!” Gilbert turned and disintegrated into the crowd like a phantom, leaving Arthur fumbling into the holding units where platforms awaited in sectioned spaces. It was a massive, circular room with a glowing power source in the middle. Arthur assumed the power source might be the super computer running the entire simulation of the Purge, but then again.. this was far from a simulation.

 

There was a sudden tap on Arthur’s shoulder and he spun around to see Brittany’s face looming over him. He blinked. “B-Brittany--I mean, Mrs. Wilson! S-sorry.”

 

“Oh please, Arthur, drop the formalities. You’ve made it to the Purge, we can call each other by our first names.” Arthur genuinely did not know how to respond. So he just stared as she pushed along the surprise conversation, “so according to the coverage on your route, you have made an alliance with the New Prussian team. They are strong, that is good. Do you have any plans on how to start?” Arthur shook his head remember suddenly that Synners were allowed the hour with their representatives before the Purge.

 

“No ma’am. Gilbert told me he’ll let me know once it begins, which means I have to be next to their platform.”

 

“Well it looks like they’re joining around platform #35. So we can start heading over there if you’d like.” Arthur nodded and they began their journey around the holding room to where the ‘New Prussian team’ talked around their representatives. “Here.” Brittany suddenly said, providing a black one-piece suit to Arthur. “This is the uniform all Synners wear in the arena, it also comes with a ticket belt. You’re familiar with the ticket belt from previous games right? Anyways, there’s a pouch for your flask as well.” He blinked and examined the material.

 

“Thank you..”

 

“There’s no reason to thank me, just go on and put it on.” Arthur nodded and began undressing and redressing into the suit. It was skin tight yet surprisingly versatile as he stretched and tested the fabric. The belt rested comfortably at his hips with tiny divots on the rims where tickets could be held onto and saved. This was handy when finding multiple tickets but it also made it easy for other foes to steal tickets. He’d seen Synner in the past games play like it was capture the flag and avoiding killing at all costs. Those were the ones that normally died within the first few matches. Arthur sighed and traced his hands on the smooth surface of his tablet, pensive with the thoughts of his purpose. Lost in the thoughts of what was and what will be. “You look as if you were meant to be in that uniform.” Brittany’s voice smiled. As her turned towards her, he nearly missed the five minute warning call on the intercom due to him finding such a sentimental gaze on her face. Her expression was… gentle. “Well, in any case. I hopefully will see you at the end of the day…” She hesitantly stood, shifting her weight uncomfortably. One minute. The platforms hissed as they readied for launch and Arthur stepped upon them, his gaze never leaving Brittany’s face. “I know you will do well,” Brittany stated, her voice nearly being drowned out by the compression bolts unlocking beneath his feet. “my dear, dear grandson.”

 

The platform raised faster than he expected and he had to catch himself, stabling his form upon the surface with his heart rapidly beating in his chest. He didn’t even have time to think about her last sentence, hell he wasn’t even sure he heard it right. There was so much noise and yet nothing but layers of metal uncasing until finally sunlight dappled onto the black uniform and he squinted his eyes towards a blinding sun. The Purge had begun.

 

Pine was the first smell that hit him, pine and a crisp breeze. The biome was severely North American with rocky slopes and bolders and tall, towering pines that littered the ground with a sea of golden needles. Arthur looked around and saw the platforms on either side of him were emptied, the Synners belonging to the platforms no where to be seen. Assuming they dashed off as soon the platform met the arena, he shrugged it off and began towards the trees. Before he could make it into the shade however, a hand swung and caught Arthur around the mouth, dragging him behind a dense red wood. He bit the hand instinctively and his assailant yelped, swinging his hand in the air and gripping it shouting in whisper, “Ouch! petite salope! Putain ça fait mal!” Swinging around and staggering away from the man he scowled at Francis.

 

“Easy there, kitten!” Gilbert’s voice purred and Arthur raised a brow to him warningly. “I told you we were going to meet up once we started.”

 

“Frog-face didn’t need to go rapey in order for us to ‘meet up’.”

 

“Yes well, when we saw you not dashing from the platform like everyone else, we were thinking you forgot..”

 

“To put it simply; we grew impatient.” Came an uncommon voice thick with a Spanish accent. When he met the eyes of its beholder, green with a sun-kissed face that would make any Beta let alone an Omega weak in the knees, he was surprised to find those eyes cold and dismissive. It was the gaze of someone who didn’t trust him or didn’t like him, and shockingly enough, Arthur was satisfied with this.

 

“Alright, so we’ve met up, what’s the plan?” He asked, wanting to get down to business. The trio of grew closer together and he followed, noting Ludwig keeping watch a few feet away.

 

“Simple. Ludwig and I will take offense and you and Francis will take defense. Antonio, you’re best with camouflage so you just do your thing and find somewhere you can take people out easily. Francis and Arthur, you guys go south, Ludwig, you and I will go north. Good? Good.” Arthur stared bemusedly at Gilbert but then even more confusedly at the rest who seemed completely content with this plan.

 

“I’m sorry, but t-that’s it?!” Alfred exclaimed, completely flabbergasted by the group. They all turned and stared at him as if he was an annoying little kid. Gilbert sighed.

 

“Question?”

 

“Of course I have questions! What the hell are Francis and I suppose to do? What are we ‘defending’?”

 

“Oh, you’ll be defending your life. Well, more so Francis will be. You’ll be standing there looking pretty.”

 

“E-excuse me?!”  But before they could even take the blow of Arthur’s wrath they had all disappeared into the forest, leaving Francis to suffer. “What the bloody hell was that about?!” Arthur snarled, throwing his hands up in the air but unconsciously following Francis in the opposite direction the rest of the group ran off to. Francis just shrugged whimsically, hell, everything the man did was as if it was choreographed. This annoyed Arthur further.

 

“Nothing, mon ami, you just simply… do not look too intimidating is all.”

 

“What do you mean I don’t look intimidating? I do to look intimidating!”

 

“No. You don’t. You look scrumptious, a delight to imagine when you’re lonely or in a bathing suit for that matter, but you in no way look like a threat.”

 

“Pardon?! What the fuck?!” Arthur was appalled by the man’s bluntness yet felt the blush on his cheeks all the same.

 

“Oh please, darling, I am of the same beauty. Why do you think Gilbert put me with you?”

 

“To baby sit me.”

 

“Ah right.”

 

“This is ridiculous! I shouldn’t have to deal with this shit, I knew forming an alliance with you four spelled no good--”

 

“Shh!” Francis stopped in his tracks, his body tense and his hand raised gently. Arthur bristled.

 

“I can talk if I damn well want to--”

 

“taire! Shut up!”

 

Everything was quiet, the birds in the trees chirping and grasshoppers beating their wings through the long grass. It all seemed peaceful but Francis was clearly on edge.

 

“Do you hear somet--” Francis’ hand waved for him to be silent and he bit a few strong words back. Then there was a snap. It was faint but still audible. Then voices, then a larger snap of a branch echoing invisibly within the forest.

 

“Get on my shoulders.”

 

“What?”

 

“No time! Get on my shoulders and grab the branch above me!” Arthur nodded and quickly scrambled onto the man’s back, Francis swaying carefully to keep balanced. As Arthur clawed at the branch above he heard a snicker from below him, “oh, I am loving the view right now..” Arthur’s face burned.

“Sod off, pervert!” he seethed before hoisting himself up on the branch and then climbing upwards. He could hear Francis following just beneath him. Once they were about halfway up the tree, they could hear the Synners beneath them talking and laughing, thought they couldn’t depict what they were saying. Arthur could recognize one of them, however. The man from before, from the picnic was one of the men down on the ground. He must’ve formed an alliance as well.

 

“Say, isn’t that your boyfriend down there?” Francis teased.

 

“Oh shut up!” There was a snicker in response but was cut short by a techno-chime that echoed like thunder across the arena. Suddenly, the sky above them displayed the face of the dark skinned woman he ran into before the games, the flag of zimbabwe and her name showing below her. On the corner of the display was another picture with the terrifying boyish face of the Russian Arthur had run into in the lobby the other day. Already he had made his first kill. Arthur sucked in his breath before yet another chime went off. An Asian man with the flag of Korea, once again killed by the Russian. Another chime. Then another. The fifth chime was not of the Russian though, but of the young woman that had clung to his arm before. The Belarusian flag displayed next to her name and he swallowed. His prediction was right, they were by far the team to be most feared.

 

“Merde. The Russian killed four people already and it hasn’t even been five minutes..” Francis said to himself. Arthur made a sound of acknowledgement before hearing a voice call his name from below, nearly scaring him right off the branch.

 

“Arthur! Arthur is that you?”

 

“Bloody hell!?” Arthur hissed, hugging the trunk desperately and peering down with all the caution in the world. The damn Amerikan’s cheery face stared back up. Arthur’s heart began thundering in anxiety, especially when the two other Synner came up behind Alfred and gazed up at them. They’d been spotted. They’re going to die. Fuck shit fuck fuck. There was a tap on Arthur’s leg and he gazed down at Francis’ calm face. The Frenchman pressed a finger to his lips and reached in a knot in the tree, something shined as he pulled his hand back out. A ticket. Francis mouthed for him to keep them busy and that’s exactly what he did. “What’re you doing down there, Alfred?” He said because he couldn’t think of something better. Alfred shrugged.

 

“I could ask the same. What are you doing all the way up there in that tree?”

 

There was no hesitance, “Getting a better view. Layout of the land etcetera..” Arthur saw out of the corner of his eye that Francis had clipped in the ticket and had begun looking through the files.

 

“Huh. That’s really smart!” Alfred called back up, “Well listen, why don’t you guys come down? We found some tickets near the river but there’s nothing on them save some survival shit. You guys can join our group if you’d like, we got some extra ones down here.” He suddenly gestured to the two men beside him. “This is Max, Australia’s champion and this is Gupta, Egypt’s champion. I swear we won’t hurt you if that’s what you’re thinking.” Francis and Arthur shared a look and Francis nodded accordingly.

 

“Um. You know what, Alfred. I’m good. We’ve got everything we need up here but uh… thanks! I’ll see you back at the resort okay?” Alfred blinked and then grinned.

 

“Okay! I’ll see you too!” Then, just like that, they walked off. Francis unfastened the ticket and clipped it to his belt.

 

“Stupid Amerikan.” Francis grumbled under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow. “That was a little more than odd… and you’re certain he’s not your boyfriend?” Arthur groaned as they began down the tree.

 

“I don’t even know the chap! He’s like the weird neighbor you just don’t want to associate with. I think he’s harmless though.”

 

“No one in this arena is harmless, mon cher.” As if on cue, five chime went off at once. Arthur didn’t bother to see who it was but Francis gave a sound of satisfaction.

 

“Ludwig just earned two kills. So did Antonio.”

 

“Oh? Good for them.” Arthur replied dryly. Francis brushed the bark off his knees before grumbling something to himself. “Sorry, what was that?”

 

The man looked away for a second, then ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing.”

 

“You hesitated, which means it’s not nothing.”

 

“You’re right.” Well no hesitation there. “I’m just amazed at how little you seem to care that you could die any moment or that any of us could die any moment.”

 

“I apologize, but why should I care? It’s going to happen sooner or later and you guys haven’t exactly been making me feel like more than a tool..”

 

“That’s right, Gilbert didn’t want you because you are intimidating or even that you can kill well. We’ve seen the tapes of you killing that Synner and your wrestling stunt beyond before you were chosen and honestly, there was nothing exciting about any of it. Normally, someone like you wouldn’t be chosen as a champion, which is why we wanted you.” Arthur felt a pang of emptiness filling him. Gilbert, Francis, all of them had been deceiving him this whole time.

 

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would you want me on your team if I’m useless?”

 

“Because I think that proves that you’re not useless.” When Arthur stared at him quizzically, he continued, “I mean, you’re useless in every true sense belonging to the Purge, but it’s obvious you know how to play the system. You have inside sources, someone working for you promising you a place on the top spots. Gilbert will probably kill me for this later, but we didn’t have you join because we could promise you a position at the end of the week… it was because you could promise us one.” Arthur just stood there, frozen to the spot in confusion, eyes glued to the ground. If this was true, then he really was alone in this, there was no alliance, and these people didn’t want to be his friend. Not that anyone would want to.. he hadn’t exactly been treating his friends nicely at this point. “Sorry I had to be the one to say it, dear. I probably shouldn’t have. But I think it’s better than not saying anything at a--HAGhk!!” Arthur looked up to find an arrow pinning Francis deep into the tree trunk by his shoulder, his hand clawing at the arrow but unable to pull it out. “M-Merde!”

 

Arthur swung around to see the assailant only to dodge an arrow by a hair’s length. A long ways off, a woman was sprinting through the trees, grinning ear to ear and loading another arrow into the bow. “This is just like elk-hunting in the homeland, right brother?” She laughed melodically as the Russian followed close behind her a slower, ambling pace.

 

“Da, just like homeland!”

 

The laugh was vicious and cruel and Arthur finally knew what true fear felt like. He gripped the arrow in Francis’ shoulder and tugged but it was dug in clearly. “Fuck fuck pull it out!!” Francis seethed as Arthur dug a boot on the tree trunk for leverage.

 

“What do you think I’m doing?!”

 

“Well do it faster!!”

 

Just before another arrow landed straight where Francis’ head would’ve been, the arrow released and Arthur pushed Francis out of the way. Then they ran. They ran without any save of endurance or energy, for this was running from death. These two were demons with a taste for blood and Arthur did not feel like being on the menu. Making it up the slope of an incline, he could hear the dirt shifting beneath his feet and rocks flying from either end of the hill. It grew steeper as they rose, Francis gripping his bleeding shoulder with gritted teeth. In his haste to get away, Arthur’s steps were uncoordinated and his foot accidentally stepped on a loose rock. He could feel it give way and Francis’ hand stick out a moment too late, then his head hitting the dirt and his body tumbling and scraping through dried thicker bushes. Rocks tumbled down and he became more afraid of the loose rocks hitting him than his head hitting the rocks. His arm hit the trunk of a tree and he could feel the cloth rip and the rough texture of the bark dig into his skin. He yelped but found that the collision had stilled his falling body. Arm wrapping around the trunk, he dug his boots into the dirt incline until he was stable then searched up where he’d fallen from. “Arthur! Arthur are you alright?” He could hear Francis call.

 

“Yes! Yes I’m fine! Keep going, don’t mind me! I’ll catch up with you later!” There was the sound of rocks moving and Arthur knew he had taken the advice. He breathed slowly and positioned himself against the tree, observing his wounds. There were bad scraped throughout his body, mainly on his bicep where the most impact was at but also all over his face, knees, and torso. In several places the cloth was ripped and his bicep was bleeding badly and stung worse. He licked his lips, then tore off the remaining sleeve, tying the cloth around his bicep to stop the bleeding. Arthur then began patting the layer of dust off his body and carefully made his way down the rest of the hill.

 

The techno-chime had sounded at least twenty five times since he had separated from Francis, but he didn’t completely mind being on his own. After all, he always had a knack at stealth and keeping quiet, with such a lithe form it was easy to maneuver through the forest without being seen. Most of the kills had been from the Russian team but Arthur was relieved to find Francis was not one of those kills. He must’ve gotten away somehow.

 

Stumbling through the forest where the foliage became dense and pointed, Arthur couldn’t help the cracking of branches as he slipped through. Stepping carefully over even louder branches on the ground he heard movement ahead and instantly was behind a tree. Peering out over the bark, there was a lanky young woman climbing over an old tree, searching around intuitively. She must’ve heard him. Arthur sucked in breath and weighed the odds. She carried about three tickets, when hadn’t found one. Her face had come on the sky-monitor about three times, and she didn’t seem too affected by the deaths. Which means it would be easy to kill Arthur. Even still, it was a shame seeing as how beautiful the woman was, with light, mouse-brown hair and strong features. Arthur could tell even from here she was a Beta, and by the looks of it have had no problems of being such.

 

Slowly, she closed the distance between her and the tree Arthur hid behind. He kept his breath shallow and silent, he could hear her footsteps crackling closer and closer. When she was two feet away from the tree, the sound of her breath making his eyes shut tight, there was a distant, electronic sound. Arthur didn’t dare look but minutes later, the woman let an ear-shattering scream out that was only masked by the exploding of bullet shells. Arthur’s eyes remained wide open looking over at the body falling to the ground, her beautiful form tattered and devoured in bullet holes. He peered out from behind the tree, gasping for air and hearing his heart pound in his chest. A round, robotic, camera-like thing stared back at him, a mechanism attaching it to the inside of a tree. Hanging below the sphere base was the drained ammunition belt, the barrels still smoking with gun powder. The machine creaked to life again and he flinched away only to find it slithering back into its tree. He’d never seen anything like that. “It’s a drone bot.” A voice sounded behind him, simultaneous to the chime of her death and her face boasted on the monitor. She had been the Hungarian champion, killed by Kiku of Japan. Arthur swung around to meet Alfred just feet away from him. He had a nice sized cut across his chest but was nothing too bad. “Well you certainly look like shit.”

 

“I could say the same for you. And what the hell is a drone bot?!” Alfred took a step forwards and Arthur took a step back giving a gesture of warning.

 

“Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna hurt you. And for your information, it’s from a ticket with only the names of Synners on the roster. You pick one of those names and a drone bot takes care of them for you anywhere on the map. Once it empties its clip, it disappears, so if you stay alive until then, maybe hide behind something or wherever, then there’s a slim chance you might survive. Usually not though. They’re pretty scary things, that’s why the tickets are so damn rare. Usually only two hidden in a biome.” The air faded to silence as Arthur scanned him skeptically.

 

“How do I know you won’t hurt me..”

 

“Cause I won’t.”

 

“And what makes you so trustable?”

 

“Cause I am.”

 

“Jesus fucking christ.” Arthur turned away and began off only to hear Alfred’s footsteps following close behind. “Oh sod off already! I can do fine on my own, go back to your little group or whatever!”

 

“My guys got killed a while back. Russians took them out.” Arthur slowed his gate, but did not stop.

 

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

 

“It’s nothing. It’s not like they were friends, I just met them at the beginning of the game.”

 

“Still.”

 

“Jeesh. I didn’t know there was a Synner out there that actually cared about life.”

 

“Well of course I care about life! I am human after all!”

 

“No. You’re a champion. There’s a difference. No wonder you have no kills.”

 

“I legitimately do not know how to respond to that.” The terrain began to dip into an incline and Arthur reached out to steady himself on branches as they went. As they traveled down, Arthur eyed around, making sure there weren’t any Synners nearby, however at this point the map was quite emptied. There were only around two mortalities left until the buzzer would go off calling the game and sending the remaining fifty Synners back to the resort.

 

“So listen. I’m sorry about before. I know I spoke out of line about you joining that group..”

 

“Uh.. no problem? It was odd but not a big deal.”

 

“Where are they anyways?” Arthur took a wrong step and stumbled forwards only to be caught on the arm by Alfred.

 

“Thanks.” Arthur mumbled, pulling himself away from the man. “And they’re scattered. Ludwig and Gilbert are probably still tearing up trouble. Antonio’s off hiding somewhere or planting traps and Francis.. well I actually have no clue where he’s at but probably doing the same as the other three.”

 

“You guys didn’t stick together?” Arthur didn’t know why this question ticked him off, but it did.

 

“Well no. We cover more ground if we’re apart.”

 

“Well yeah, but you’re more vulnerable too.”

 

“Well.. fuck you.”

 

“A proper response.” Arthur hid the smirk that threatened to slide on his lips as they stumbled forward to even ground.

 

“So do you know where the Russian team’s hiding?”

 

“Last time I heard, they were held up the mountain with a bunch of boulders on it. Know of it?”

 

“Yeah I know of it.”

 

“Anyone who goes up there gets taken down immediately. Everyone’s grown smart and the Russians are sitting pretty fat with their kills so I doubt they’re going to come out by the end.”

 

“Well that’s good.” Taking another step, there was a loud snap of his boot crunching on a dead branch. However, the snap was loud. Much too loud for his liking.

 

“Somethin’ wrong?” Alfred asked softly. Arthur nodded, putting his hand up to stay quiet.

 

“We’re being watched…” Everything was silent. There was no crackling of branches not even the birds dare chirp. Just the faint howl of wind was the sound around them. Then there was a reluctant snap, one that tried so hard to be hidden but failed in its attempt. “run.” Just as they hit speed, An arrow flew between them several war cries crawling over the hills along with thundering footsteps. About seven Synner were on their heels and gunfire followed a clipped-on ticket from behind. All bullets gratefully missed. Fumbling through the trees the foliage grew thicker and thicker until a pain shot through his side. Arthur fell forward and a hand wrenched around his neck as the knife dug deeper into his torso. “Arthur!” he could hear from behind him, then the knife was removed and there was a dying gasp. He achingly turned his face towards Alfred who left the dead body to help him up. “Shit, you’re bleeding bad! We have to find a ticket! I’ll kill someone with it. One more kill and you’ll be fixed up just hang on!” He could taste blood on his lips, he didn’t even have twenty minutes to spare. “Arthur, shit, stay with me!” but the blood loss was draining his energy and his eyes were blank as the forced themselves to stay open. Once they made it to the river, Alfred began scoping the rocks for tickets, turning over the river-smooth pebbles and stones desperately. Arthur was lain on the shore, his eyes staring blankly ahead as all of his concentration remained staying awake. He could feel the pain in his side, could feel the blood gushing from his wound. He could even feel how much blood there was just by the area of cloth that stuck to his skin by the crimson glue. “They’re usually here! I don’t understand!” But his words were unimportant, for out of the corner of Arthur’s eye was the glimmering of a ticket beneath the rock next to him. Shakily he pushed the rock over and took the ticket, struggling in clipping it into his tablet just as Alfred realized Arthur had found one. “Awesome! Awesome now we just need to kill.. holy shit.” When the files came up, there were only names and faces. Most were crossed out by a red X, probably meant that they had been killed already. But the fact there were names meant only one thing; this was a drone ticket. He couldn’t ask for anything better… or anything worse.

 

Arthur hadn’t killed a single person the entire day, he hadn’t needed to. No one had caused harm to him to the point that he needed to kill that person and now… now it was asking him to take someone out who hadn’t even attacked him. Arthur thought at first about taking out someone from the Russian team, except with the amount of places to hide in that boulder area, they could easily miss those bullets. Not that he wanted to kill them. Not that he wanted to kill anybody. He never wanted to be a champion in the first place, he never wanted to kill. He was trained because his family forced him to, because they pressured him that it was the ‘right thing’. Because of this cause Arthur has had to pretend to be somebody he’s not and now he’s forced to kill someone. “Arthur… Arthur choose someone you’re crazy pale!” He knew he would’ve had to kill someone eventually but maybe… maybe this was easier. Maybe it was easier to just wait until he bled to death and would count as the last kill. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with have to kill anyone, or having to constantly be afraid of death. Or have to worry about if he’d win or pleasing his family or the rebellion. He wouldn’t have to worry about being a Beta when he’s an Omega, the paranoia of getting was so stressful and this was finally the ticket out. Literally. Arthur gave a soft, weak smile at this, his eyes just slits now and his hearing going deft as Alfred was screaming something inaudible to him.

 

He suddenly felt the tablet being ripped from his hands and watched as Alfred scrolled through the names and chose one, pounding on it and causing the file to erase. Before he lost consciousness, he could hear a sudden chime and the last thing he saw was the sky monitor presenting the strong, handsome face of Ludwig. Killed by Arthur.

  
  
  



	8. Gluttony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took so long to update this! I've been really busy getting ready for college and working on my web comic that I haven't had much time. But at least here the chapter is!

When his eyes opened, there was an array of stars lighting up his vision. For a second, Arthur thought he had died, that this feeling of surreal numbness and the stars clouding his mind was perhaps limbo or the space between his world and the next. But the spots began to clear with every blink of his heavy eyelids and the numbness grew into something euphoric and quite pleasurable, like the buzz of just waking up from a fantastic nap.

 

His hand traveled instinctively to his side, rubbing the soft cotton of his torso but finding no expected pain. There was however a ridge beneath the cloth and as he peered over and lifted the shirt a bit, he saw the bold scar on his side. So what had happened wasn’t a dream, it was real. He was alive, and he was still in the Purge. Somehow, this was not a relief to him and he groaned, laying back in bed, mind still fogged. “Bonjour, mon ami. I have to say, you look like an angel when you sleep!” Came the annoyingly smooth voice from beside him. Arthur peered over towards the blond who had positioned himself on his side, a smirk crinkling his eyes.

 

“How long have I been out..?” Arthur croaked, finding his mouth dry. Francis shifted back into his own bed.

 

“About a half hour.”

 

“You can’t be serious? It feels like I’ve slept for days.”

 

“Yes well, drugs tend to make you feel like that. It’s a fantastic thing really.” Francis stretched adding an unnecessary, pleased moan to the action. Arthur rolled his eyes. “So you are no longer bleeding profusely?”

 

“Huh? Oh yeah. Healed completely.. and your arm. It seems perfectly fine.”

 

“But of course it is! Have you seen today’s technology? Remarkable.” The smile stilled upon Francis’ lips and fingers scratches his chin idly. Eyes hollow with thought the corners of his mouth twitched and exhaled slowly. “You know, mon cher… I have half a mind to kill you right now, and more than a few word banks to suffice the same emotion. But I won’t.” Arthur blinked at him questioningly.

 

“E-excuse me?”

 

“Well we are not in an alliance any more, so any extra friendliness is wasted on you to put it flatly.” When Arthur didn’t know how to respond Francis gave a bitter laugh and rested back in his bed. “You killed Ludwig, do you not remember? He wasn’t just Gilbert’s brother, I’ve seen that man grow since he was but a little boy. He was like my little brother too. The urge to avenge him is devastatingly real I’m afraid.” Arthur’s blood was cold, his heart feeling as if it had been stabbed.

 

“F-Francis. I didn’t do it. I-I..” He could picture Ludwig face in his mind, those strong facial features those sparkling blue eyes. Then he envisioned the wallet on the side of the hot tub with the Omega’s picture hanging out the flap. “Oh god..”

 

“What do you mean you didn’t do it? The monitor said it all. It was your tablet that sent the message to kill him.”

 

“No.. I. I couldn’t of…” He couldn’t remember anything from the last few minutes before he passed out. In fact, the last thing he remembered was being laid out upon the rocks and him syncing a ticket into his tablet. Arthur couldn’t defend himself to Francis because he honestly didn’t know how to. So Francis just gave a bitter scoff.

 

“Listen, Arthur. Don’t get me wrong, I like you. But we cannot be friends, and if we encounter each other tomorrow, I will not hesitate to kill you like I would any other Synner.” Arthur gazed at him in horror, pursed his lips, and lunged from the bed. He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of sweats but did not take too much notice at this as he stumbled out of the infirmary and up the cobblestone path leading to the resort. Eyes watched him from every which way and the burning guilt in his gut only strengthened. He hadn’t just killed Ludwig, he’d killed a husband and a father. He’d killed someone who had shown him nothing but kindness… well this was a recurring theme. No wonder Francis didn’t want to be his friend, no wonder he couldn’t keep an alliance.. every friend he made he’d eventually stab in the back. Walking quickly into the lobby and nearly stumbling over another Synner, something in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. It was Gilbert, eyes even redder than normal. And he saw him.

 

“You.” Arthur winced at all the hate that was bundled in that word. “You fucking son of a bitch! I’m going to kill you!” But as Gilbert lunged, Antonio wrapped his arms around the man and held him back.

 

“Don’t Gilbert. You’ll get disqualified if you lay any harm on another Synner in calming period.”

 

“I don’t fucking care! You killed my goddamn brother! What did he ever do to you?! Why would you even--” His voice was hoarse, lost by the piece of emotion ripped from his heart. Arthur didn’t know what to say, how to defend himself, how to even come close to apologizing.

 

“G-Gilbert… I’m… I’m s-so--”

 

“Leave him alone, Gilbert.” The voice was sickening to the sound but Arthur was too frozen to scowl at Alfred as he came beside him. “Your brother would’ve died anyways, I don’t understand why this is such a huge problem for you?” Alfred’s face contorted for a second and then he bluntly stated aloud, “Or was it because Ludwig was your ‘tank’ and now you’re powerless without him.”

 

“FUCK YOU.” Antonio had to struggle in order to keep Gilbert back from Alfred. “Ludwig trusted you Arthur. He trusted you and you fucking killed him. I don’t know why I’m surprised seeing as you’re already quite common in the concept of betraying friends. Gott he was a father, Arthur!”

 

“Hey, let off. It wasn’t him who killed your brother.” Their eyes went wide and the entire lobby honed in on Alfred. “It was me. Arthur was close to dying so I grabbed his tablet and--”

 

“You killed him?!”

 

“Well actually I tapped your picture, to be fair.” Gilbert looked ready to collapse, his entire face was in shambles trying to decide whether to kill or cry.

 

“He jumped in front of the drone for me… he protected me. I was his big brother, I’m suppose to protect him… and now he’s dead.”

 

“You couldn’t have protected him this entire time. If you felt that way, you shouldn’t have both joined the Purge. You know that only one can win in the end..” Did this man have absolutely no heart? Did he not care that a good man just died by his hand? Gilbert grinded his teeth together then spat on the ground next to Alfred’s feet.

 

“If I ever see either one of you during the rest of the week. If I have even the slightest upper hand, I will use it without hesitation. And I will not rest until I see you on that monitor. Consider yourselves dead men.” And with that Gilbert turned away followed quickly by Antonio. The lobby went back to doing whatever they were doing and Arthur stood still, too frozen in panic to move. That is, until Alfred opened his mouth.

 

“Listen, don’t let them get to you, he was gonna die anyw--”

 

“SHUT UP.” Arthur snarled, “Just… Shut up. You are a goddamn cancer. I don’t want anything to fucking do with you so just go. You got what you wanted, I’m not a part of their ‘group’ anymore so just fucking leave me alone!” Alfred stared at him, and Arthur was incredulous to why there was pain in his eyes.

 

“Arthur… you were dying. I saved you. I had the opportunity to take out a strong opponent and I did it, I wasn’t thinking about your alliance or even that Ludwig would jump in front of him I--”

 

“You think I fucking care what you were thinking?! Alfred. Maybe I wanted to die. Did you ever think of that?” Alfred blinked bemusedly.

 

“W-what?”

 

“I didn’t have a choice to sign up for the Purge. I don’t have a fucking clue on how I even got chosen. And you know this just as well as I. LOOK AT ME, Alfred! I am not a champion.”

 

“You survived the first day… you obviously can hold your ow--”

 

“Yeah people keep being stupid and keep protecting me and keep dying because of it. Yeah. That’s right, I survived the first day but I shouldn’t have. I should’ve been the last kill, I should’ve bled out. Then… then my life would be so much easier.”

 

Alfred hesitated, choosing his words carefully before taking a step towards Arthur, “You’re a good person Arthur. You don’t deserve to die.”

 

“And Ludwig did?” Arthur bit back the emotions swelling in his eyes, “he had a family. He didn’t deserve to die. Nor does anyone. I? I deserve to die. I’ve killed two friends now, people who cared about me. I’m tired of making friends, I’m tired of getting them killed. So just… stop. Whatever you’re doing, leave me out of it.” He didn’t wait for Alfred’s reply only took off towards his room so he could possibly sleep off the guilt, though he knew it would be futile. At least his pathetic face would be hidden for a while.

 

~0~

 

“You did excellent, Arthur. Don’t you get caught up on the morality of the Purge. There is no morality during the week of syns, that’s the whole point of this week.” Brittany stood with her shoulders back and her perfect posture towering mighty and proud over Arthur who was quite the opposite. He was slouched in his game suit--a replacement seeing as the other one had been torn beyond repair--with bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

 

“You know, that’s really simple to say, Brittany, but not exactly easy to do.” Arthur said lowly, peering an eye to Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio who were walking towards the other side of the holding platforms. Gilbert’s eyes were glued to him, his knife twirling about his fingers and practically spelling Arthur’s name in the air. He swallowed.

 

“Hey. What did I just say?” Brittany’s voice chided, a finger drawing his face towards her. “Don’t let it get to you. I’m serious.” It was weird. Ever since Brittany had revealed herself as his grandmother, there’d been a sudden shift in the way she cared for him. It wasn’t just as an Alpha superior, or an important figurehead, but the way she touched him was near motherly; gentle and observant. He was grateful for this. “It’s not all bad that you quit the New Prussian alliance.” More like got kicked off. “They were a time bomb, even Francis had told you that. Besides, with your game-winning kill yesterday being one of the strongest players on the field, you’ve got some respect points from your viewers as well as your opponents. Play this to your advantage.” Arthur nodded meekly, forcing himself to listen though it was as if listening to something far away. His attention was just not there. The one minute warning went off and he stepped onto the platform. As it raised gradually, he followed Brittany’s eyes until he couldn’t see them anymore and found nothing but compassion in them. He felt pain.

 

The thing that first hit him was the heat and the lack of oxygen. There was not a cloud in the sky and the biome was completely made up of sand. Immediately he cursed the designers of the suit as the black cloth was practically magnetic to the sun’s heat, baking him in the inside. He coughed from the dryness, looking around to see the rest of the Synners confused and doing the same, he brought out his tablet as if it might give him the answers. Only a word. A word that he could not read. A word that would give everyone else an advantage over him. He sighed and began wandering around, sifting through the dirt and feeling the sweat evaporate from his skin. In minutes he ran out of sweat and his tongue was as rough as sandpaper and sticky as sap.

 

There was a shout a little ways away and as he turned to address the shout, he watched Synners begin running ahead from their platforms. He scanned the horizon but couldn’t spot anything at first, however, as he squinted and focused further on through the boiling surface of the desert, there was a tiny dot, almost completely invisible from how far it was. But his opponents had the right idea, if there was a dot, there was some type of landmark which could lead to tickets which could lead to the bloodshed finally. Arthur breathed in a few times, trying to get a sufficient amount of oxygen in his lungs before breaking off into a steady jog.

 

The opponents strongest in running and endurance were much farther ahead and the slowest were normally from the colder climates such as the Russian team. Alfred had thought himself skilled in running, but when the water in his body was disintegrating as rapidly as his consciousness and the growing ache of fatigue was taking over, he was as sluggish as a man who was out of shape. When he finally was forced to reduce to walking pace, the dot had barely grown in size. Several Synners were even worse off than him, the Russian team was a ways away tripping over a sand dune while the horde of Synners achingly made their way to the dot.

 

A bird call echoed from above and he gave a huff of strained relief at the shadow the bird caused over him. Even if it was just a tiny bit of shade, it still blocked the sun for that moment. They were vultures, or some other type of scavenging bird, but they were more massive in size that he’d thought a vulture to be. And they didn’t exactly look like vultures, for their wings were more sharp and their beaks even sharper. The birds were some type of carnivorous hunting species, unlike the scavenging species he mistook them for. Giant, man-eating birds. This was fantastic. Arthur grumbled something to himself and pushed forward. If he was right and these birds could pick a Synner up off the ground, then he had to keep moving and keep his distance from them.

 

As the birds soared many miles over head, the dot could finally be depicted as a shape; a black tree. But the tree was full of red leaves, or what he thought was red leaves. As Synners suddenly broke into a run, he realized that those leaves were not leaves at all, they were tickets. It was a bloody ticket tree. Arthur forced his legs into a run but found to his horror that his muscles had cramped from his exhaustion and his mind spun with dehydration. Suddenly something guttural bellowed from his stomach and he lurched forward, his hands digging into the burning hot sand and a sizzling erupted from his vomit’s impact on the surface. Many had already begun vomiting at the past mile, those who had drank or eaten fully the other night. He shuddered as another wave of nausea hissed upon the sand in which he stood shakily.

 

By the time the tree was only a few kilometers away, several had begun climbing the tree, scrambling weakly upon the branches and stacking up the tickets on their belts. A few had already made off with their fill of tickets and had begun sifting through them. Arthur stood at the tree, too exhausted to be cautious of the Synners around him doing the same. The tree’s limbs were gnarled and the trunk itself was curling upwards like something ominous. Arthur didn’t like the look of it, but nonetheless climbed the tree and began picking tickets from the branches. One of the branches his hand was on suddenly snapped and he fell onto his back, the wind being knocked from his lungs. He coughed dryly. Water. He needed water. Something to eat. He didn’t just crave it he needed it to survive. When he looked towards the branch full of tickets glimmering in the sunlight, a hand quickly swiped the branch out of view. It was the Russians that first caught on to what Arthur had accidentally done, and before anyone could attempt it, an Asian with long black hair swung himself agilely up into the tree, hanging on a tree branch like a monkey before it snapping and falling to the ground. He watched as the man swung back down to the ground and met up with the Russians. They’d apparently made a new ally.

 

Curiosity got the best of him and he stuck the ticket on the side of his tablet. There was the ping of recognition and then the files popped up on the screen. He switched through them carefully only to find no weapons or survival items on file. Nothing to kill another with. While this relieved him slightly seeing as he was surrounded by Synners all with the same curious gestures, he ached for what was on file; food and water. And not just any food either, good wholesome food, soul food, wealthy food, food that you could only deem as a delicacy where ever you were. If his mouth hadn’t been sandpaper, he was sure he would be drooling. Arthur pressed the image of a bottle of water. Guzzled it down and then clipped another ticket in. This time he chose a steak and began eating it without even sparing himself some time to breath. Laying back on the ground, he continued chewing, looking up at the branches of tickets and the blue sky and birds that were circling the tree and their eyes locked on him. He slowed his chewing. Then stopped it completely.

 

Their eyes were golden. He could see their irises dilating, their wings broadening as a falcon would do once it spotted prey. And there weren’t just a few vultures, no, he looked farther where they appeared out of nowhere and began hovering in drones over the tree. Some tore from the swarm of birds towards where other Synners had run off to. Arthur swallowed the bite of steak, staring up at this tornado of black, predatory birds and finally came to the realization; they were readying themselves. He ran.

 

The sand kicked out from beneath him and with already weakened body he looked rather clumsy going over the dunes. Suddenly the toe of his shoe caught on a rock buried beneath the surface of the sand and he spread his palms to the impact of the sandy incline. Soon he was tumbling with the sound of the beating wings and the feeling of golden eyes watching his every move.

 

As he hit the burning sand at the bottom, the beats began to disappear, or more so deter away from Arthur and towards some voices over the horizon. He crawled on his elbows to peek over the dune to see the Russian team lazily laughing and eating and walking. Natalia was smiling mischieviously as she turned to her brother, “Brother, why should we make our beloved sister carry all the food when we have a mule right here!” She patted their new member on the back and he grimaced shallowly. The Russian batted his sister’s hand away. This seemed to insult her. “Ivan! He is not blood. Why has he joined us?”

 

“He is formidable man.” The Russian and the black-haired man shared a glance that Arthur deemed interesting. “He will do many great things for us. For me.”

 

This only strengthened her persistence and she clung to his arm, “But Brother! I will do many great things for you! You can count on me not this… this China trash--AHN!” Just as she was about to spit at the man, her brother grabbed her straight by the hair and yanked her upwards. Natalia kicked out with a crying gasp and he dropped her onto the ground.

 

“You will not insult him again, Sister. Understand?” She stared at him a long while before nodding her head reluctantly. The Chinese Synner shifted uncomfortably until he looked up.

 

“Those buzzards are flying a little too low don’t you think..?” They followed his gaze slowly until the Russian quickly spun on a heel, shouting.

 

“Otoydi ot neye!” Shoving past the two he pulled out a long, detached sink pipe from his layers of clothing and began beating at one of the birds that had dove at the Ukrainian Synner. Then the rest of the birds over them dove, their claws outreached and aiming for flesh. Arthur watched in horror as the birds, who could now be compared as three times the size of a human, viciously turned the sand red. He couldn’t watch anymore. Arthur shrunk behind the sand dune and tumbled down the incline. He needed to get far away from those birds, but why had they all of a sudden attacked?

 

He kept running, making sure that the nearest bird was just a speck in the blue sky. Though he would not be so ignorant as to think that it would take even that great distance just a few wing beats to cover by those beasts. “Arthur!” Arthur spun around and saw Alfred, completely covered in food. His arms were dripping with turkey legs and ham burgers and sandwiches of all sorts. Arthur paled. “Arthur? Why didn’t you grab some food? Aren’t you starving?” Yes. He was. His vision was growing dizzy and he was sick to his stomach with hunger but the aching need to survive was far worse than the aching starvation inside.

  
  


Looking over his shoulder and ignoring Alfred per usual, he attempted searching out the winged beast only to find the blue sky. It had disappeared. Arthur felt as if he should be relieved by this observation though something knawed at the back of his mind. “Arthur, you don’t look so good..” He suddenly heard from the man beside him. Paying his attention back to Alfred, stars peppered his vision and warped into blackness and he stumbled to catch himself. The food dropped to the ground instantly as Alfred’s arms enveloped him. He shoved them off without hesitation. “Arthur, I’m just trying to he--”

 

“Just trying to help, I know! And I’ve made it quite clear I don’t need your help, in fact, you’re the one needing help!” He shouted back, holding his head in his hands. The sand-caked food looked so damn appetizing but after watch what had happened to the Russian team he wasn’t nearing temptation just yet. “You.. You have to get rid of that food, burry it even.” Alfred just looked at him in confusion and concern. “Oh, who am I kidding, it’s like talking to a bloody wall! I need to get away from you.. I need to..”

 

“Arthur!” This was the price. This was what this game was about. The ones who knew better would suffer the most, but the ones who did not think, or thought on impulse would come to the realization far sooner. But as Alfred held him steady, he was questioning whether he should have just taken the risk of being mauled by birds to avoid the hell of six-hour starvation. And it wasn’t even starvation that was killing them slowly, it was the lack of water. It seemed as if the predatory birds weren’t just attracted to food, they’re attracted to surpluses of water. The more sustenance a Synner had, the more of a target he became. “Come on, we need to get some water or something in you. You’re really pale, you know.”

 

“I’m English what do you bloody expec--WATCH OUT!” Just as he glanced up, there was a moving blackness, a heavy collision and then he was on his back with something sharp digging into his arm and thigh. He gasped from his back hitting the ground, then came up to stop a beak from gouging into his eye socket. The bird’s eyes were honed in to his skull, the massive wings wafting the dust into the air with colossal beat. And the weight of the creature, he could barely breath under. For his hands alone held a bird head the size of a horse’s. He writhed on the ground, punching the bird in the neck as much as possible, only causing the vulnerable skin of his inner thigh to tear from the talon dug inside. Much too close an even more vulnerable area. He shouted in agony, then twisted his good knee to come into raptor’s stomach, then a well timed punch to the throat and the bird was flapping away and catching its balance. He only able to scramble a few feet before it clawed in again upon his lower back. He was pinned, with no way of protecting himself. His arms couldn’t reach, his legs couldn’t kick, nothing but an eminent demise would greet him… except for an annoyingly heroic Amerikan. The blond came wailing with the turkey leg he had held before into the bird’s head, knocking him off of Arthur momentarily then having the leg shoved down its throat. As it shook its head and choked, Arthur was wrenched from the ground and shoved off.

 

“You’re an asshole you know that?!” Arthur shouted, limping drastically as they ran.

 

“And how do you come to that conclusion after I save your life?! For the second time might I add!” Alfred shouted back a reply, his gate like some kind of track star. This only pissed Arthur off more.

 

“Because I didn’t have the food and yet somehow I’m the one being attacked! That is some keen logic we have here!”

 

“Hey, I didn’t fucking know those vultures were man-eating. The birds we have back in the states like those eat only dead thing!”

 

“Well that’s practically what we are now aren’t we?!” Realizing they were a safe distance away from the now seizing raptor, they allowed their paces to slow and to catch their breaths. “Shit…” Arthur gasped, vigorously gulping air.

 

“You can say that again.” Alfred laughed, gasping an equal amount despite his near perfect running form. His hands on his knees he looked up Arthur who was now looking up at the sky with wide, shocked eyes.

 

“Shit.” When Alfred’s gaze followed, his eyes widened too. For painted across the sky were the faces of twenty-four Synners, including the Ukrainian champion from the Russian team. Then another one was added to the panels. A handsome face with kind eyes. Someone Arthur would want to know better. There was a sorrowful wail coming from over the mound and as the two eyed the sound’s origin, they found the Japanese Synner on his knees, gazing at the same face. Arthur could empathize.

 

Then there was an array of lights, as if a lightning bolt had slowed down so it was just a trickling, circuit-lined stream of electricity running through the panels. the ground flattened beneath his feet, walls forming as the desert horizons but soon those trickled away as well. The Synners were revealed throughout the room, looking around to see who was left and who was dead. And Arthur was very glad that he was unconscious the last time a game ended, because seeing those who had died in front of him was an unearthly feeling. As if stepping out of one’s body to see something they never wished to.

 

Twenty-five dead. The number sunk in slowly with the corpses lying around on the ground, being cleaned up by the instructors that entered. Natalia could be seen on the far corner, blood running down half of her face, cradling the the dead Ukrainian woman in her arms and sobbing. Arthur didn’t even know if it was possible for that woman to sob, and yet the tears fell heavy. “Jeez. I always hate this part. Come on… we need to get you to the medical area.” Arthur just nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Natalia’s face, or Ivan’s dark complection. He didn’t seem like an intimidating Russian warrior anymore, just a grieving man who had lost someone close to him. Arthur wasn’t prepared for this.

 

As his wounds were eliminated by an injected serum, his eyes remained hollow and pensive. He knew it would do know good wrapping himself up in the deaths of those that were already dead. But to witness them, no, being forced to witness them in the end, he was slowly coming to the conclusion that this wasn’t about the Purge anymore. In fact, this week wasn’t about some sort of celebration or release of spiritual sins… it was about fear. It was about every government in this world showing citizens what even the strongest were not capable of. That there was no hope. That there was no darwinism, no survival of the fittest even. The governments were gods on earth, they chose who lived and died and he was one of their pawns. Just a player in the game of power. “You alright?” Alfred’s voice asked, snapping him back into reality. He had all but held his hand the entire walk to the medical area and through the treatments given.

 

“Fine… I’m just fine.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I am so excited to be entering my first story on AO3! I really hope you like I'd really appreciate any feedback you can give me! Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!


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